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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright No. 

Shelf.M..5.e 7 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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V 



From Tide to Timber-Line 



POEMS AND DIALECT VERSE 



BY 



DR. P. L. McKINNIE 



ILLUSTRATED 




OX^ 



CHICAGO 

The Blakely Printing Company 

1895 



ms" 



Copyright, 1895, 
By p. L. McKINNIE. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Give a Lift to Mortals; It Makes Heaven Every Day, - g 

Gladstone, - - - - - - - ii 

America, Home Land, - - - - - -12 

MVsTERiEs: Life and Death, ----- 13 

Who Duty Parries Not, ------ 14 

The Press and Fast Mail, ----- 16 

Evangeline, - - - - - - - -17 

God Ciphers Me an' You, ----- 18 

Woman, -------- ig 

Love and the Rose Leaves, . . - . 20 

Forgive, Forget, ------- 21 

The Assays There Will All Be True, - - . 23 
Only a Life, --.----28 

The Taxes of the Poor: or, the Old Man's Warning, 2g 

To the Memory of a Brother, ----- 33 

The President, ------- 33 

The Irish Patriot, ------ 34 

Ulysses S. Grant, ------ 36 

One Hundred Years, ..---. 38 

The Old Liberty Bell at the World's Fair, - - 40 

Immortal Love, ------. 41 

The Boon of a Better Life, ----- 42 

Celestia, -------- 43 

Nature's Voices, ..---. 44 

The Birth of Music, ------ 45 

My Mother, - - - - - - - 46 

The Pioneer's Rest, ------ 47 

The Sheep on the Coast, . - . - - 4g 

Two Encampments, „-.--- 50 



vi CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Freeman's Home, - - - - - 51 

The Kingdom of Love, ------ 52 

The Army and Navy, .... - 52 

The Soldiers' Memorial Freedom's Fruition, - - 53 

Silence, ....--- 54 

Memories, ....---- 54 

Conflict, ------- 54 

Burial, -------- 54 

Memorial, ------- 56 

In the Sea, - ------ 56 

Unknown, .-..--- 57 

Requiescat in Pace, ------ 57 

The Pioneer in Humble Paths, . - . - 58 

Forty Cents — God is Accounting, - - - - 59 

The Soldier, - -'- - - - - 61 

Cactus, ---..---62 

The God of Gold, ------ 62 

The Temperance Millennium, - - - - - 64 

Chicago Triumphant, ------ 67 

1812, . - - - ... 67 

The Wager of Fire, - - - - . - 69 

1872, .-.-.---70 

Chicago's Welcome, - - - - - - 72 

1812, ------ --74 

1893, - 74 

Sherman and Porter Memorial, ----- 75 

Our Country and Flag, ----- 77 

Lariat Dan, ------- 79 

Uncle Mose on Matter and Mind, - - - - 81 

Earth's Hurricane Deck, - - - - - .82 

Believers and Dissenters, ----- 84 

Palmer Lake, Colorado, ------ 86 

Happiness, ------- 86 

A Birthday Greeting, -.--•- 87 

Uncle Mose's Kristmas Poim, - - . - 90 

Cripple Tim and the Charity Ball, - - - - 91 

Love's Despair, ------- 94 

The Congress of Religion in Pedro Ranch, - - - 95 

Jim in the Blizzard, ----.. 100 



CONTEXTS. vii 

PAGE 

Dan Muldoon's Church at Cripple Creek, - - - 103 

Rocky Mountain Musings, - - - - - m 

The Mountain Peaks, - - - - - - 112 

The Rarefied Air, ------ 113 

The Minister's Vacation, - - - - - - iM 

The Prospector, - - - - - - i ' 5 

Tlie Mining Expert, - - - - - - 116 

The Hunter (from the Board of Trade), - - - 117 

The ^Mountain Monarch, - - - - - iiS 

The Frenzy for Gold, - - - - - nS 

Zeke at the 'Naug'ral Ball, - - - - - 120 

My Railroad Pass, - - - - - - 122 

"T^fiE Judgment Day in Boulder," - - - - 123 

Tim O'Reilly's Society Insurance, - - - - 127 

Remorse, - - - - - - - -12S 

A., F. and a. M. (Cowboy Branch), - - - 130 

" Only A Woman," ------- 132 

The Sham Battle, - - - - - - i33 

The Bride of the Plains, ----- 135 

Dinnis O'Toole's Dayry, - - - - - 142 

Jane and Jeremiah at the Cottonwood Masquerade, - 144 

The Tramp Miller, ------ 146 

Is Marriage a Failure, ------ 147 

Fidelity, ----.--- 149 

Bigots, - - - - - - - -150 

Love's Fetters, - - - - - - 151 



In eartJis embrace are cohunbine. 
Orange, thistle, and fruiting vine ; 

So love and sorrozu hearts enshrine, 
From ebbing tide to timber-line. 



POEMS AND DIALECT VERSE. 



GIVE A LIFT TO MORTALS: IT MAKES HEAVEN 
EVERY DAY. 

"\M jj^ YOU do no shirkin' on the road you travel 
"^^ ""^-[H^ Of duty to your fellow-men you meet along 



With burdens, but help bear them, you'll the 
great command obey, — 
That makes heaven every day. 

You may know but very little "bout creeds or any schism, 
An', may be, can't repeat the long or shorter catechism; 
But, when you wipe a tear away, you've found the greatest 
ism, 
And it's heaven ever}' day. 

The big charity cotillon — if you ain't asked to lead it, 
An' your name for charity ain't where the world will read it. 
Just help down in the subsoil, where God's poor mostly 
need it, — 
You'll bring heaven every day. 
9 



[o GIVE A LIFT TO MORTALS. 

Don't worry 'cause you can't just build a school or seminary, 
Or telescopes, or hospitals, or give a dispensary; 
Just be content with doin' now the small and ordinary; 
For that is heaven every day. 

Just a flower, a rose or lily, has saved a human bein', 
An' a song or gentle music sent temptation backward fleein'; 
If you only do the mites of good, I know the Lord's agreein', 
It makes heaven every day. 

If a child of want an' sorrow is wcaryin' an' weepin'. 
An' in the dregs of sin an' shame all better nature steepin', 
An' you lend a hand to help them, you're the best com- 
mandment keepin', — 
That is heaven right away. 

So among the human stubble you can do His will a 

gleanin', — 
Castin' not the gathered sheaves where, only, light is 

gleamin', — 
An' help the fallen raise their eyes where love divine is 

beamin'; 
An' that is heaven every day. 

When you give a lift to mortals who are walkin' in the 

shadder 
Of a sorrow, an' you lighten it an' make their hearts beat 

gladder, 
You will be one round up higher, up higher on God's ladder, 
Toward His heaven every day. 



GLADSTONE. ii 



GLADSTONE. 

As prophets of the olden time 

Declared the law of God to man, 

So doth he ^vith the silvery crown 

Of fourscore years and five, 

With one foot on the shores of time, 

The other on tlie threshold of eternity, 

Enunciate the law that governs man, — 

That is stronger than the code, 

Or constitution, or hereditary claim; 

That is written on the heart of man, 

Erom generation unto generation; 

That roots in his affections. 

And only there is strong, enduring. 

So doth the universal heart of love 

And justice in all mankind. 

In every clime, the quicker beat; 

And pulses throb in Celt and Saxon breast. 

Incense of undying fame doth brighter burn 

And glow from heights tliat touch eternal spheres. 

The time, the place, the grandeur own, 

And name him valiant Knight of years. 

Defender bold of human aspirations. 




12 AMERICA, HOME LAND. 



AMERICA, HOME LAND. 

We are standing in the glory of a galaxy of stars, 
On a field of blue emblazoned by the gleaming 

Of camp fires that were lighted for freedom's holy wars, 
That the harvest of the years hath brought, redeeming. 

And we shout a loud hosanna to America, home land, 

Tliat shall echo to the end of all creation. 
For our country reunited and redeemed to ever stand. 

For God and man, a freeman's happy Nation. 

From the embers slowly dying in the ashes of the past, 

Behold a glow immortal is upspringing, 
In the banner, crimson dyed with the blood of loyal men. 

Whose praises all the ages chord in singing. 

Let the hills that flashed the code, and lagoons that answered 
back, 

In accord with hill and prairie sing the story; 
Let the babe and mother sing, the sire and grandsire sing. 

And emancipated hosts proclaim the glory. 

For the living brave who bear their country's wounds and 
scars, — 

All honor and all glory we award them; 
For the loyal brave who sleep in the battle-grave of wars, — 

Immortelles, and flowers, and tears to-day accord them. 

And all shout a loud hosanna to America, home land. 

That shall echo to the end of all creation. 
For our country reunited and redeemed to ever stand. 

For God and man, a freeman's happy Nation. 



MYSTEIilES: LIFE AND DEATH. 13 



MYSTERIES: LIFE AND DEATH. 

The boatman rode over the surges ; 

The brave engineer faced the night; — 
A mother watched over her infant, — 

AX'hile the Dark Angel winged for his flight. 

The mists gatliercd dark o'er the rocks in the sea, 
The cries of the lost rose above its wild roar; 

The brave boatman heard, — but the Angel was there, 
A child in his arms, found dead on the shore. 

The storm broke in torrents, and flooded the stream; 

The iron threads above it were severed in twain. 
Alone in the gulf rode the brave engineer, 

And kissed the Dark Angel for the life on his train. 

Ere ceased had the anguish that gave it new life. 
O'er her infant a languishing mother's lips paled 

In prayer for her child, ere its tiny form pressed 

The breast that would nourish the Dark Ansrel veiled. 



Who keepeth this life shall lose it; 

Who giveth, a better shall gain 
With Him who gave when the temple veil 

In darkness was rent in twain. 




WHO DUTY PARRIES NOT. 



Who is pure in heart, and duty parries not, 

Nor ever seeks an easy path 

By compromise with evil, hath 
A destiny of conflict and a warrior's lot. 

Victory shall come to him 

Only on the death within 
His heart of seltisliness and lust, and greed 

Of gain. Evil tempts with gold, 

Or preferment, or threatens bold. 
So should his courage have the greater meed 

Of Truth: that armored mail 

The shafts of Evil shall assail 
In vain, and broken lie at feet of Victory won. 

With Right, and purity of heart 

And purpose, shall courage ne'er depart; 
But, putting on the buckler day by day, all duty done, 
14 



WHO DUTY PARRIES NOT. 



15 



The Victor's crown is won at last, 

Worthily, when the contest's past, 
To be worn as jewels that shall be a crown 

Of truth and courage pure, 

With noble aspirations to endure 
Unto the end. Then may he lay all burdens down, 

And, in sweet silence, peaceful rest 

With Him who doeth all things best. 




1 6 THE PRESS AND FAST MAIL. 



THE PRESS AND FAST MAIL. 

From the lakeside city, whose thousand spires 
Sprang from the conquered ashes of fires, 
Like Phcenix of old, to a destiny greater 
Than in her votaries' fond dreams await her, 
In the somber darkness taking its flight. 
Like a spectral giant, with wings of white, 
And time and distance and light defying, 
The Press and Fast ]Mail is as jNIercury flying. 

Freighted with thoughts of the teeming brain; 
Commending the right, the wrong to arraign; 
With a message of hope, of peace and strife, 
Of losses and gain, of death and life. 
Of sorrow and joy, — the work of the world. 
For itself portrayed, as a scroll unfurled, — 
'Tis the Press that is fearless to dare and to do 
The work of the gods, the just and the true. 

Scorning the darkness in its meteor flight. 

Like an arrow of fire in plutonian night; 

Racing with rays that Aurora now brings, 

Away, fast away, while merrily sings, 

In a yodel and trill, the \\hir of the wheels 

As they cling to the steel, like a being that feels 

The pulse of the spheres as they whirl in their path, — 

Flies the Press and Fast j\lail as a storm in its wrath, — 

Over prairie and hill, with their harvest of grain; 
Mississippi, Missouri, away o'er the plain. 
With the speed of the wind to the mountains of snow; — 
Aye! the winds in their race, with its speed never blow. 



EVANGELINE. 17 

With the strength of a Hercules, grace of gazelle, — 
The spirits of safety and speed with it dwell; 
And it carries the sword, piercing barriers through., — 
The Press of the world, — the world to renew. 

A Titan there stands, with his arm to the steel, 
And a light in his eye an immortal would feel; 
Like Europa he rides to Olympian height, 
In the world to attain and to conquer his right; 
By the steed, with his master's proud spirit imbued, 
In his course the planet of earth is reviewed. 
Like a storm in its power, yet mild as caress, 
A King serving all, — the Fast Mail and the Press. 

Give the way, give the world, to the spirit of truth; 
To the progress that throbs with the vigor of youth; 
To the art that a scepter both wields and creates. 
That a tear may disarm, yet defying the Fates; 
To the thought that, away from the reign of the past. 
Seeks anew, yet anew, to perfection at last. 
In the realm of Endeavor, with her banner unfurled, 
'Tis the Press and Fast Mail that conquers the world. 



EVANGELINE. 

She comes on the wings of gladness, 

The fruition of hope's delight, 
Like l)reaking of joy upon sadness, 

Like the dawn to an Arctic night; 
Like dew to the thirsting desert, 

Like water to fountains dry, 
Like love to love responding 

With love that can never die. 



1 8 GOD CIPHERS ME AN' YOU. 



GOD CIPHERS ME AN' YOU. 

Thur ain't no use o' talkin', boys, 
Thnr's suthin' downright square 

In how the laborin' fellers do 
When sorro' plows her share 

Into the subsile ov the heart 
All racked with grief an' care. 

An', boys, the way to jedge of men 
Is by works, and not by creed; 

For thar's suthin' square about 'em 
Who bind the hearts that bleed, 

An' for widows and for orphans 
Provide in time ov need. 

An' jist one month gone yistirday, 

It was that Reuben said 
To me, as I was standin' thar 

Beside his dyin' bed. 
That, ef his time had come, he knew 

His children would be fed. 

An', wdiile I held his hand in mine, 

I hecrd him faintly say, 
That blessin's would be theirn, he knew, 

Whose creed was more than pray; 
An' then he said, "God bless the — " 

But he had passed away. 

An', 1)oys, tlie pledge they made to him, 
With her they all hev kc]:)t, — 



WOMAN. 19 

An' more; fer through the fever's fire 

They rested not nor slept; 
An', when 't was vain, they with us all 

Thur tears ov sorro' wept. 

An', when her heart was breakin' 

With the coniin' home to dwell 
Where the embers all was ashes 

On the hearth, an' where the knell 
Of the emptiness was sadder 

Than the tollin' ov the bell; 

When the shadder ov the valley 

Was black with clouds ov woe. 
They come with oil an' spik'nard. 

An', like colorin' ov the bow, 
They raised Hope's gleamin' banner, 

With its sweet an' radiant glow. 

So, then, I say, to jedge ov men, 

If you would jedge 'em true, 
Is not so much l)y what they say 

As by the deeds they do; 
An' I jist reckon, on this plan, 

God ciphers me an' you. 



WOMAN. 



Whose heart is right, whose motive pure, 

Man's strongest inspiration; 
In peace, or war, will he endure 

For her true approbation; 
Without her aid, no ills he'd cure; 

With, ills of all creation. 



LOVE AND THE ROSE LEAVES. 



LOVE AND THE ROSE LEAVES. 




^^ FRAGRANCE I.fromAraby, 
Sj^^Q From vales of Cashmere cap- 



tured, 



if l(/ _, . 
' \"\ f^y (T, ^v Prom Occident, from Orient, 

An atmosphere enraptured. 

With odors sweet, 

I come to g'reet, 

Thy senses all caressing; 

"v-'-r^And, ravishinsr with pleas- 

^- ures meet, 

I brinof to thee a blessing. 



Myprison walls without por- 
tray, 
By Art's deft hand re- 
flected, — 
Rich roses rare, and blossoms 
fair. 
In colors all perfected; 
And yet, behold, 
Lifeless and cold, 
Of rose flowers but a seeming, 

While I exhale, e'en from the mold, 
The essence of their dreaming. 

And I, rose soul, live evermore 

With True Love, my handmaiden. 
When sorely pressed, then I the more 

Give perfume richly laden. 



FORGIVE, FORGET. 

True Love and I 
Can never die: 
Death proves but our perfection ; 

And we do give nor plaint nor sigh 
When crushed, — but fond affection. 

I come, — the spirit of the flowers, — 

Intangible, yet token 
Of hope, and faith, and vows that pass 
Through shades of death unbroken; 
All, thee I bring, 
On fragrant wing, 
Love, love to thee confessing; 

May all thy life perennial spring 
Be ever, is my blessing. 



FORGIVE, FORGET. 

When my weary days are past. 

And sleep doth end my labors. 
And joy and fears are o'er at last, 

j\Iy record with my neighbors — 
May it not be a granite shaft. 

Or epitaph's vain glory; 
But, in their minds and hearts engraft, 

This humble, simple story: 

"He lived for those he loved always, 

He made his own their sorrows; 
He tilled love's chalice for to-days. 

And hope raised for to-morrows. 
He craves no tears, no vain regret. 

No tribute, friends and brothers. 
But only this, forgive, forget. 

His faults as he all others'." 




Jim Leonard stood — his pick and spade 
With poncho tied together. 



THE ASSAYS THERE WILL ALL BE TRUE. 23 



THE ASSAYS THERE WILL ALL BE TRUE. 

Jim Leonard stood — his pick and spade 

With poncho tied together — 
Beside the grave where now is laid, 

From the world he could not weather, 
His pard; and life was cold and drear 

In the camp of Twilight Canon, 
• For he was dead that for "ten year" 

Had been his boon companion. 

Tlie trail seemed lonely now to climb, 

The drills and anvils weighty; 
He felt that age was marking time 

U]:)on his brow at eighty; 
Now bleaker looked his prospect hole 

Than curtains dark of Kedar, 
And, like the wail of a tortured soul, 

The winds sighed in the cedar. 

At last he spoke as though in prayer, 

Or sadness broken-hearted. 
And these the words he uttered there, 

Addressed to the departed: 
"Old pard, you're gone, and Fm alone; 

But, when the winds are sighin', 
I seem to hear the parting tone 

I heard when you were dyin'. 

"The waters down the canons pour, 

Like spirits vengeance wreakin'. 
And in the rattlin' thunder's roar, 



24 THE ASSAYS THERE WILL ALL BE TRUE. 

I think I hear you speakin'; 
And when at night I hear the sHde, 

And trees and bowlders fallin', 
I'm thinkin', pard, you're by my side, 

Oi- for me you are calHn'. 

"But now I'm gettin' tired of hfe, 

It grows more sad and weary; 
The days are full of toil and strife, 

The silent nights are dreary; 
And, pard, I soon will climb the trail 

That starts where peaks are endin', 
And turnouts there we'll never hail, 

We meet no packs descendin'. 

"We'll climb the mountain sides no more, 

By night and day prospectin'; 
We'll file a claim for t'other shore, 

And wait the resurrectin'; 
An', if we never panned out here 

Wliat we have been expcctin', 
We'll make our trail a title clear 

To callin' and electin'. 

"M}' shift will soon be over, pard; 

I'll soon be done a stopin'; 
We'll all be under cover, pard, 

Where drifts are never slopin'. 
The levels all are on one base, 

No upper shifts a blastin'; 
The tunnels all meet in one place, 

The chamber's everlastin'. 

"The assays there will all be true, 
Accordin' to our sample; 




The trail seemed lonely now to climb. 



25 




■■ My shift will soon be over, pard; 

I'll soon be done a stopin' ; 
We'll all be under cover, pard, 

Where drifts are never slopin'." 



26 



The assays there will all be true. 27 

And when the mill runs are all through, 

They'll show us this example: 
That if we work the jig below 

By 'saltin' ' and deceivin', 
That up there, pard, there is no show 

To cover and get even. 

"And when the sortin's all been done, 

And ready for the grindin', 
I trust, old pard, 'high number one,' 

They'll most of us be iindin'. 
For concentration methods, pard. 

They've never up there boasted; 
But down the chute low grade and hard 

Is crushed and dumped and roasted. 

"But, pard, if we have rustled square. 

And never practiced jumpin' 
The claims wherein we had no share, 

We needn't fear the dumpin'; 
For I believe that who has made 

The mountain, has no failin's, 
And He can find a better trade 

TJian bxirnvi up the tailiiis." 




28 ONL Y A LIFE. 



ONLY A LIFE. 



Only a ray in darkness, 
Oniy a fleeting breath, 

(Jnly a kiss and parting, 
Only from life to death. 

Only a weary waiting, 
Only unknown to know. 

Only desire and denial, 
Only to come and go. 

Only a pain and patience. 
Only an ebbing tide, 

Only a gleam of wisdom, 
Only a cause untried. 

Only a call of waking, 
Only a sigh to sleep; 

Only a tear, love's anguish 
Over a grave may weep. 

Only a name forgotten, 
Only a hope at best, 

Only a woe that's buried. 
Only a soul at rest. 




THE TAXES OF THE POOR. 29 



THE TAXES OF THE POOR: OR, THE OLD MAN'S 
WARNING. 

'Twas noonday, and the people o'er the streets 

Did hurry. To and fro they passed, — 

The \oung', the old, the middle aged, — and all 

With eager faces and cautions step, 

As though to shun the very earth, 

Or some foul thing thereon. 

Li^e dreamers did they gaze, 

From place to place and spot to spot, 

As though allured by weird enchantment, 

Toward little placards on street 

And fence in wonderful profusion. 

"Your taxes now are due," they read, 

With faces blanched with fear of 

Coatless backs and unfed sides, of 

"Looped and ^^•idowed raggedness;" 

And wildly did they stare, with eyeballs 

From their sockets starting, as though the brain 

In fiery frenzy drove them forth like 

Hagars to the barren desert of a 

Woeful apprehension. 

One aged man I saw with years bent low. 

His eyes grown red like to the autumn's sun; 

While clung his many-colored garments 

O'er the sorry frame that once was strong, 

But now upon a staff did lean for help. 

His head was barren, save where hung 

A few white hairs beneath his ears. 

Now useless grown and deaf, and withered up with years. 



30 THE TAXES OF THE POOR. 

His hat, in mournful harmony, was worn of fur, 
And in excess of wrinkles equaled only 
By his leathery, whealed face. His lips were thin, 
Like skin untanned of war's alarming drums. 

Steadily the old man picked his way 

The weary throng among. 

Nor heeded their low mutterings. 

Like claws of untamed beast or bird of prey, 

His bony fingers clasped his oaken stalT, 

A bundle, and a little leathern purse 

That held the earnings scant of many toilsome months, 

That now, with honest heart, he bore to pay 

The poor man's burden, the weighty taxes of the day, 

That so unequally are laid upon the 

Shoulders of the weak in much unjust 

Proportion, — upon the toilers of the world, who bear 

The heat and burden of the day; 

To whom the sunrise comes but as a monitor, 

To daily efTort urging on ; 

And whose fatigue is sweetened not 

By great respectability of calling high, 

And occupation, but all is wean- toil; — 

Men who plod the well worn path at early morn. 
High noon, and dusky eve, from night to day, 
From day to night, in one exhaustless round of 
Never-ending toil ; who pass like shuttles through 
Warp and woof of life, and then lie down, with task 
LTnfinished left the only legacy to mock 
The toil-worn throng that follows ever on. 

"Ah, welladay! 

Full forty years this selfsame path Fve trodden o'er. 



THE TAXES OF THE POOR. 31 

The vig;or of my life was sapped away 

In this most hapless task, to from my door 

Forever keep the most unwelcome titheman's face; 

For, as the years passed l\v, 

I came, as now I come, to pay the tithe 

That long has borne me down. Ihit soon 

I'll come no more; my tremliling limbs 

Foretell, in language true, the tide of life 

Erelong will ebb, and I, with many others 

Gone before, low in the weedy, tangled acre 

Of the cemetery will lie unknown, forg-ot. 

But ^ven there the same sad caste I see 

Above the earth in dazzling marble shaft; 

But 'tis not so beneath. 

For there, there is no place, no preferment. 

But all in conunon mold must lie 

In nature's own equality, that here I 

Cannot know. That dusky earthy 

Ctirtain only makes all men equal; 

And like an Arctic night it comes to some; — 

To some, with me, a bright 

And radiant thought, my only happy 

Contemplation. 

"My worn effects are little save this huge 

And mighty pile, to which this day I 

Add another, signed in full. 

The burden of my life, in which I read 

That honesty is doomed to die 

Or beg; since I have scorned to lie. 

But rather gave in full when for assessment 

I was asked. For which in old age poor 

Am I, possessed alone of this great stack, 

Which to the world tells only this: 



32 THE TAXES OF THE POOR. 

That I for forty years have been a fool. 
But this I know will be the last, 
For age and frigid cold do not agree. 
For lack of warmth I've suffered much, 
That this one with the rest, o'er forty grown, 
Might happily added be; 

"And this my last request I make, 
Altho' requests of paupers old, by night 
And cruel winds alone are heard. 
For people heed them not. 
And now, when I am gone, these tax receipts 
Pray take, well wrapped in foil, and l)Ound 
And sealed, and with them mark 
Wherein I lie; for it is well 
That wliat has kept me down in life 
As with a leaden weight upon my shoulders hung 
Should serve to me a partial good 
In death ; and let it be to me a monument 
Among the graves where monuments are never found, 
And label it not with my name, but this: 

" 'To this do all men come who truth do not forget, 

But answer well and true of all they are possessed: 

An honest pauper lies below, begotten 

By taxation, and, as all who come 

This somber way must leave their all. 

He leaves these tax receipts, — all he left, 

And all he had to leave.' " 



70 THE A/ EM OR V OF A BRO THER — THE PRESIDENT. 33 



TO THE MEMORY OF A BROTHER. 

'Tis well, though bitter be the smart; 

He wounds who knows to heal: 
We bear the blow with trusting- heart, 

For out of woe He bringeth weal. 

A friend we mourn, a brother kind; 

To councils here he'll come no more: 
The great Commander of mankind 

Has summoned him the valle\^ o'er, 

Where no dark pebbles cast a shade, 
Where camp-fires bright eternal burn, 

Where hope and fear at rest are laid. 
White pebbles only in the urn. 

His life's great fruitage hath he left 

For friends and brothers, neighbors true; 

And, unto his sad ones bereft, 
As tmto ours, so may we do. 

And may his life, in word and deed, 
Cy our kind action further grow. 

With faith and hope and love our creed, 
For love of man we love bestow. 



THE PRESIDENT. 

May he wiio stands upon the heights 
Olympian be of Godlike mind. 

His Holy Grail true human rights. 
And, ruling nobly, serve his kind. 




THE IRISH PATRIOT. 

Oh, when, lovely isle of speech and of song, 
Oh, when shall be snrcease of thy bitter wrong? 
Thou hast drained to the dregs War's chalice of woes, 
Of Famine, of Slaughter, and sore feudal blows; 
And misrule and greed arc joined hand in hand 
To decry and despoil thy once happy land, 
To poverty-shackle thy warm-hearted race. 
And evil and law join hands in the chase. 



For Hungary bleeding, for Greece when she cried. 
Thy people shed blood, thy sons for them died. 
Where Freedom has struggled through hundreds of years, 
No land and no tongue plead in vain to thy ears. 
From the fields of the Boyne, through the zones of the world, 
To her throne, Appomattox, has Freedom unfurled 
Her banner; but there he has rallied and died 
For the boon that his own native isle is denied. 

34 



THE IRISH FA TRWT. 35 

Oh, bring, then, the shamrock, and cover his grave, 

From the green hills of Erin, the land he would save; 

While his soul with brave Emmet's inspiration will bring 

So long as the bells of loved Shannon shall ring. 

His voice for his native land cannot be hushed, 

The truth to the eartli can never be crushed ; 

I'Vom the grave he shall speak, with unpalsied tongue, 

And the wrongs of the Emerald Isle shall be sung 

In the name of her martyrs, till at last, on her crest, 

In a halo of peace, shall her liberty nest. 




36 ULYSSES S. GRANT. 



ULYSSES S. GRANT. 

MEMORIAL. 

Muffle deep the drums, O comrades; beat them low, com- 
rades, low: 

Carry arms reversed, O comrades; march slow time, com- 
rades, slow: 

The dumb horse with his trappings, riderless lead by his 
bier: 

Let them fall like rain, O conn-ades ; none so true as soldier's 
tear. 

Open ranks, O ye immortals! Swing wide the regal gate, 
Where Washington and Lincoln with soldier legions wait. 
They are marshaling their armies! we can hear reveille beat 
A welcome there in grand review, his patriot soul to greet. 

Fire the volley, O ye soldiers, though a knell within our 

breasts 
It echoes from the grave of him, where all that's mortal 

rests. 
And the pageantry of death calls forth the fritter tears 
From hearts that swell in tribute to the record of his years; 

And we battle or we bivouac on the fields his valor won. 
From Shiloh's line of slaughter to James' red gauntlet run ; 
From Wilderness undaunted, through fire to Southern sea, 
He led, and freedom followed, planting standards for the 
free. 

Drape the flag, O loyal comrades, and salute with bated 
breath ; 



[jLVSSES S. GRANT. 37 

At half-mast let the colors droop; they are ordered down 

by death 
For him who colors never struck; though walking hand in 

hand 
With death, the mortal faltered not, innnortal in connnand. 

No resentment ever rankled in his Ijreast at conflict's close, 
And they learned erelong to love him, who once were 

l)itter foes. 
His heart did beat as loving sire's for soldier boys in blue. 
And throbbed with noble sympathy for those he vanquished, 

t'_)0. 

He conquered all amliition, and Glory's honored sheaves 
Were strewn upon his pathway with crowns of laurel 

wreaths; 
And in command of armies, or in solitude to plan, 
He was lo^al to all duty, and a true American. 

The Nation deeplv mourns him; the world all time may 

dwell 
On the glory of his glorious name, and the life he lived so 

well. ' 
Companions of the Legion, loved League of Tennessee, 
And comrades of Grand Army, your Captain's soul is free. 

Open ranks, then, ye immortals! Swing wide the eternal 

gate, 
Where Washington and Lincoln, with loyal legions wait; 
They are marshaling their armies; we can hear reveille beat 
A welcome there in grand review, Grant's soldier soul to 

greet. 



38 ONE HUNDRED YEARS. 



ONE HUNDRED YEARS. 

1776-1S76. 

Give retrospect a regal dower, 
Vouchsafed in conflict's crucial hour, 
On field or forum where were cast 
The lines that bind us to the past, 

When souls of men bade men to stand 
And offer lives for native land, 
For Liberty, and hearthstone shrine, — 
Man's right, decreed by Will divine. 

New stars are born of golden hue, 
Intwined in folds red, white, and blue; 
A banner fills Aurora's skies, 
The dawn of hope to waiting eyes; 

Then comes a code that crowns a race, 
And Saxon foes meet face to face, 
At Lexington, on Bunker Hill: 
Late vassals, now are Kings at will. 

Through jungles stained with loyal blood, 
O'er Delaware's ice-gorging flood. 
From hills of Maine to placid James, 
The scroll is bright with valiant names. 

"A yeoman race! a yeoman King! 
A Washington!"' doth welkin ring. 
With loud huzzas: through joy and tears, 
The echoes fill a hundred vears. 




39 



40 THE OLD LIBERTY BELL AT THE WORLD'S FAIR. 



THE OLD LIBERTY BELL AT THE WORLD'S FAIR. 







1^ 



"'* 



lyiV/jS^'RIi:!"!^ tlic bell! the old bell 

til at rang" loud and well, 

That ]iroclaimed to all earth 

the hour of Liberty's birth. 

Its tongue filled with fire the son 

and the sire, 
And the hills echo gave, "Native 
land we will save." 



Is it silent and dumb, the old Liberty Bell? 

Aye! as the depths of the fathomless sea; 
But the waves of its surface, that break with a knell. 

Are as sleep of the babe on its fond mother's knee, 
To the throb of the hearts in the bosoms that swell 
With pride and beat high for old Liberty Bell. 

Our sires heard tliy tones, and the tempest was naught. 
The Delaware's ice and the Valley Forge snows 

Were conquered by them, and the deadly onslaught 
Of Bunker Hill's charge was met blows for blows; 

And thy tongue rang the pseans, and tolled, too, the knell. 

Thou art deathless! Oh, silence! Old Liberty Bell — 



IMMORTAL LOVE. 41 

Rings no more? Rings forever! while freedom breaks 
fears ; 

While lips lisp of love, of home, and of God; 
While lovers of liberty hallow with tears 

The altars where heroes sleep under the sod, 
And pledge to thy silence that all shall be well 
In the land where thou restest, old Liberty Bell. 

Guard it well, stalwart sons of true loyal stock, — 
Pennsylvania! Illinois! of old Plymouth Rock; 
Of fathers who heard the night peal of the bell, 
And the shout of the rider who rode fast and well, — 
Tliat the eyes of the world upon it shall rest, 
And hope kindle anew in humanity's breast. 

Till the fullest fruition of freedom shall break 
The bonds of the world, and the spirit awake 
That emancipates man from hatred, and hate 
And wars be no more; but the kingdom await 
Of love, never ceasing, increasing. Increase 
Till the world rests forever in the incense of peace. 

Chicago, 1893. 



IMMORTAL LOVE. 

Life's fond loves are often crushed; 
In woe's dead sea Love's songs are hushed. 
Like barren stalks in dead Love's dream. 
Love weeps for love that should have been. 
In memory's cavern walks Love's ghost, 
And haunts the soul that Love has lost. 
No mortal love; but understand! 

And love where points the golden hand. 



42 THE BOON OF A BETTER LIFE. 



THE BOON OF A BETTER LIFE. 

Aye! bring sweet lilies, the pure white lilies, 

And wreathe the cross; for it is meet 
To celebrate the new-born life 

With evergreens and blossoms sweet, — 
Pit emblem of the life to be 
Henceforth for you, from bonds now free. 
Who take the cross on bended knee. 

'T baptize you in the name of the Father and Son;" 

As thus He commanded, so hath it been done; 

And I heard the voice of the pastor in prayer; 

And I saw life's autumn and spring were there; 
And in evergreen words that will never decay, 
I read there is "joy in heaven to-day," 
While a still, small voice thus seemed to say: 

"I will grant you the boon that you ask at my feet. 
With the love of a child, so tender and sweet. 
That will shine in your lives with joys that are blent 
With the holiest love of the great firmaiuent. 

"I will give you a peace and purity bright 
That will ever be with you, a beacon of light, 
That others beholding, so faithful and true, 
The path thou'rt pursuing they fain will pursue. 

"I will give you a faith that from heaven is sent 
To glow in the heart of the bowed penitent, — 
A faith that is strong, and is broad and deep, 
That in trials will keep you ; yea, ever will keep. 



CELESTIA. 43 

"I will fill you with joys that are like honey-dew, 

That, lasting- forever, yet ever are new; 

And the water of life, for a heritage ever, 

I will give unto you that you thirst again never. 

"I will give you a shield and a buckler and sword 
That will keep you forever, — the sword of my word, 
That will cheer you in age and guard you in youth ; 
Tis the shield of devotion and buckler of truth. 

"At last through the valley will I bring you to rest. 
In the homes I have for you prepared with the blest; 
And none shall be lost that to me have been given. 
But all shall be with me in the kingdom of heaven." 



CELESTIA. 

To realms of love away, away, 
As radiant dawn to radiant day. 
Than Ariadne fair, I ween, 
Celestia rules a lovelier queen. 

Eternal there a crown she wears; 
Lo! in her hand a scepter bears. 
A goddess pure, of love divine, — 
All love bears tribute to her shrine; 

And naught but joy beams from her eyes, 
To lure e'en Love from Paradise. 
In all the realms of Love ere this 
None save Celestia's love is bliss. 



44 NATURE'S VOICES. 



NATURE'S VOICES. 

Lessons all about mc! voices of the truth! 

Ever are they speakint^, fresh and bright as youth; 

Written in tlie valleys, on the hills in verdure dress'd; 

Carved in the deep Azoic, — upon the mountain crest; 

Floating" in the sunl)eam, speaking in the flowers, 

In silence on the desert, in Oriental bowers. 

I read them in the woodland, in forests deep and old; 

There, with the great Creator, I sweet communion hold. 

By the voice of running water, in the rivulet and brook, 

In the placid lake and torrent, — through all to Him I look. 

He tells me in the mountain of His great power and might; 

He gave me in the firmament a book to read by night. 

In the blossom by the brooklet and frail nest just above, 

He teaches me fidelity, and sweet and tender love. 

I see Him in the violet, I hear Him in the breeze; 

In thunder tone He speaks to me in roar of mighty seas. 

Some hear Him in the cloister, I listen on the plain; 

Some listen in the chancel, I hear Him on the main; 

Some in the congregation of people, and but there. 

Do hear Him, but I hear Him where echo speaks in air; 

In the crystal and the cocoon, in the lignite and the leaf, 

I read a revelation, and in reason my belief. 

By the pulse that throbs within me. 
By the thought that's born of light, 

By the power I feel that wins me. 
By the love that brings delight, — 

By these lessons all I know Him, 
And by no less knoweth He 



THE BIRTH OF MUSIC. 45 

Al! creatures, — though below Him,- 
And thus He knowcth me. 

And as the cloud or brooklet, 

To paths they once have trod, 
Return no more forever. 

So end our lives with God. 



THE BIRTH OF MUSIC. 

A REVERIE. 

Ancient lore! — 
Oh! shadow dim, misty vista 
Un revealed, dead past — explore! 
In the urns of buried ages, 
Sleeping, dreaming, 
Evermore. 

Natal day when notes were dying 
On the last breath of an hour, — 

An hour, — a cycle. 
On the breast of odor l}'ing, 
Borne away a spectral power 
At thy birth, to live no more, 
Leaving carved upon the pages 
Of a dream thy history, 
A zephyr's symphony. 

A subtle note upon the shore 
Of thy frail kingdom, thy periphery, 
Would annoy, if not destroy 
Forevermore. 



46 MY MOTHER. 



MY MOTHER. 



They tell me she is dead. That sainted face in life, 

More saintly still in death, 

Changed only by a breath; 
But she my mother still. My soul, in strife 

With knowledge infinite 

And reason most finite. 
Doth grope to know. The dead to us are real; 

For, since I see her not. 

Her face is ne'er forgot; 
And, in my soul, I know, and knowing, feel 

My mother's presence still: 

And so my finite will. 
By reason throned, by faith is mastered well. 

Though she dead to nature be, 

Alas! she is not dead to me. 
My beloved mother, who loved me, doth dwell 

Yet with me, sainted soul, 

Until the veil aside shall roll. 
Her precepts, trusting God, henceforth shall ever be 

My guide; and, by them led, 

\\'hen others call me dead, 
Then will she welcome me to God's eternity. 



THE PIONEER' S RES'1 . 47 



THE PIONEER'S REST. 

He hath lain down to rest; 

He who doeth all things best 

Hath called, and crowned him with the blest. 

And now do many weep; 
Ah, mankind well may mourn 
For him whom all men's griefs hath borne; 

For none had sorrows e'er so deep 
But in his warm and gen'rous heart 
He felt their sorrows his, in part, — 

•'Tis meet that many weep. 

He long hath fought for right; 

Yea, like a strong tower stood. 
And fought the good and noble fight 

For common brotherhood. 
Then, drop a silent tear. 

Ye thousands shackle-free; 
For he is dead, your champion, 

Who fought so well for thee. 

The pioneer hath gone; 

He came, and toiled, and w-rought 
With warp and woof of human life, 

Until at last he brought 
What we enjoy, — the fruits of strife 

With early days. Then, mourn the noble dead, 

Ye comrades of the hoary head. 



THE SHEEP ON THE COAST. 49 



THE SHEEP ON THE COAST. 

The winds blow fierce from the hills to the sea: 
But the rocks, like a fortress, shall keep 

The wrath of the storm from the flock on the shore; 
For the Master He loveth His sheep; 

And they tranquilly rest in love and sweet peace, 
. And tlic lambs shall lie down and sleep; 
For the storm by the Shepherd is tempered for them, 
For the Master He loveth His sheep. 

O weary, heartbroken, and storm-beaten soul, 
There's a shelter for all who will seek, 

y\iid He hcareth thy cry, — a hope unexpressed. 
Oh! the Master He loveth His sheep. 

The Rock that doth break the wrath of the sea, 
And tlie Voice that doth quiet the deep, 

Shall guard thee, and guide to a haven of rest. 
Oh! the Master He loveth His sheep. 



50 TIFO ENCAMPMENTS. 



TWO ENCAMPMENTS. 

All hail! comrades, noble G. A. R., 

From clime to clime, from near and far, 

From pole to pole, and Orient come, 

With banner and fife, and stirring drum; 

With patriot heart-beat, all fall in. 

Let the quick pulse throb at reveille's din, 

And the broad Sierras echo clear 

The Grand Encampment's roll-call "here." 

To comradeship a tribute yield, 
So dearly bought on battlefield, 
In a pilgrimage to the golden gate, 
Where story of field and camp await, — 
In the regal splendor of Pullman cars, — 
For they "tramp" no more, the G. A. R.'s, — 
High over the summit's rocky divide, 
Where the eagle soars, to safely glide: 

From the Royal Gorge to timber-line, 
Through Castle Gate without countersign: 
On the Marshall Pass the neighboring stars 
Will greet in review the G. A. R.'s ; 
And the sentinel peaks that "taps'' ne'er know, 
Will raise their hoary caps of snow 
In a grand salute to the men in blue, 
Wh.o, firm as they, stood staunch and true. 

In the home of the clouds, where nature dies, 
From the summits of earth to touch the skies, 
And feel once more the phalanx unbroken. 
Shoulder to shoulder, with no word spoken, 



THE FREEMAN'S HOME. 51 

Tlicy ma}- join our ranks who march no more. 
For a moment of time, from eternity's shore, 
And the pledge that was sealed with the clasp of death 
Shall be sworn again with the living breath, 

While we hear in the winds the rustle of wings. 
That a message from their encampment brings 
To ours: that the battle is scarcely won. 
And the pledges redeemed of '61, 
For human rights, and justice true. 
To the noble army of boys in blue; 
For the sorrows of war have no surcease. 
Save in justice onlv: "Let us have peace." 



THE FREEMAN'S HOME. 

Where Echo's cadence fills the air, 

From crag to hill, or vale ; or where 

Flows sparkling stream o'er pebbled bed, — 

As shuttle quick, with silver thread, 

Weaves in our lives a woof and warp 

Of minor strains, like Tara's harp 

By memory touched, or story told, — 

Spring fruit and perfume from the mold. 

By mystic wand, or hand divine; 

Love incense burns on hearthstone shrine; 

The giant falls by keen ax-blade. 

And earth's hid treasures bare are laid 

(Lo! comes the coin, price of a race. 

And Thracian form greets Saxon face); 

Where balance rests in equipoise; 

Where honor greets all virtue's joys; — 

Aye, there, in-urned by forests old. 

The freeman's peaceful home behold. 



52 THE KINGDOM OP LOVE. — THE ARMY AND NA VY. 



THE KINGDOM OF LOVE. 

The hills, bathed in sunlight and quiet and rest, 
An echo gave back h-oni an answering crest, 
Of the village church bell that rang in good cheer, 
Calling all people God's message to hear. 

The minister rose. After pra3'er did he read 
Of immersion and sprinkling, of dogma and creed; 
And then, in loud voice, of the miseries told 
That would overtake all who were out of the fold; 

And proved, beyond doubt, it was gentle and just 
That men should be lost for their ancestors' lust; 
And the only true plan of salvation to wm 
All mankind was to burn them for original sin. 

At last, o'er the valley, to the answering crest 
Of the echoing home on the hills God has blest, 
Shall divine love bring all to the Heaven above, 
And all shall rejoice in the Kingdom of Love. 



THE ARMY AND NAVY. 

(1886.) 

They never were vanquished on land or on sea. 
No matter what foe did environ; 

But, alas! now only the Army have we: 
The Navy's been sold for old iron. 



THE SOLDIERS' MEMORIAL FREEDOM'S FRUITION. 53 



THE SOLDIERS' MEMORIAL FREEDOM'S 
FRUITION. 



f li^'-I'V' J '^i h^INTr forth' the flowers, the 
I, is^^-'V- .!:is'' fresh, brig^ht flowers, and 

'' ^^'l'>^»'A'''>'"^W' cover the graves where 

]i^<^-'_ Jj} licroes rest. 

'4i^?'^ l^iifurl the flag! where no bond- 
f^lS^ man cowers, and yeomen are 

^'i lyings, and man is blest; 

m, Where freedom at last shall crown 
a race; where rich nor poor 
shall vassals be. 
But all endeavor, in peace and grace, to attain the crown of 

equality, — 
In home and forum, in church and state, nor rank, nor 

pomp, nor high, nor low ; 
Where rulers are servants, and humble are great, and the 

banner of peace in refulgent glow 
Shall conquer all arms, and pride, and place, and the glo- 
rious triumph of all shall be 
In the freedom that comes to crown a race with the royal 
crown of equality. 




54 THE SOLDIERS' MEMORIAL FREEDOM' S FRUITION. 

SILENCE. 

Silent and dumb are the engines of battle, 

At rest the alarming "to arms"' beating drum; 
With the emblems of peace, of glory, and honor, 

To the graves of our soldier heroes we come; 
Hands bearing tokens exhaling love's incense, 

Hearts that are filled with good-will to all men. 
The child and the sire at the grave of the soldier; 

The spirit of old fills the comrades again. 

MEMORIES. 

Coming like clouds floating over the curtain 

Of niemory's field, the mysterious spell 
Of visions of comrades, of bivouac and battle, 

That bid the heart throb in tumultuous swell 
With the fire of the fray, mad surging of conflict. 

The silence and roar, prayers, curses of war, 
Death's carnival raging at midnight and midday, 

And heart-breaking woes of brave women afar. 

CONFLICT. 

See the rider and horse and death in the gun-pit; 

The field and the forest stained crimson with blood. 
Where the soldier, the sergeant, the captain, all yeomen. 

Met the Angel of Death in the ranks where they stood, — 
Tliat the flag, bullet-riddled, might float or forever. 

And its stars eternal greet the stars in the sky. 
"Old- Glory,'' grand emblem of manhood and freedom, 

All honor to fight for, to conquer or die. 

BURIAL. 

In the twilight of sunset, with muffled drums beating, 
And a farewell volley fired over his grave, 

Tlie brave soldier rests, laid down in his glory; 
And marines and sailors sleep under the wave. 



56 THE SOLDIERS' MEMORIAL FREEDOM'S FRUITIOM. 

Repress not the tear, from its fountain upspringing, 
For brothers, and shipmates, and comrades who sleep 

In the depths of the ocean, "under snows, or the clover;" 
And their deeds for a legacy cherish and keep. 

MEMORIAL. 

Their old battle flags, all blood-stained and faded. 

Away with the trophies of conflict are laid ; 
But o'er them, forever, from honor's crowned temple, 

floats an ensign eternal, that never shall fade. 
There shall they bivouac in glory forever, 

While the sun wooes the flowers to perennial bloom: 
Their valor and honor we will celebrate ever, 

And with incense of flowers shall hallow their tomb. 
With cypress, magnolia, the orange, and roses, 

Amaranthus and lilies, of warm, sunny clime, 
In union with northern wild l)luebcll and willow. 

And evergreen, spruce, and sweet violets, twine 
For each a fair chaplet, with true heart devotion. 

O young men and maidens, weave love's inmiortelles. 
And cover them over; under God they bequeathed us 

The land where all hope, and all liberty dwells. 

IN THE SEA. 

For the sailors, marines, brave heroes now lying 

In the unknown depths of the fathomless sea; 
Over whom the dark waves a requiem are sighing, 

"Thy loved sailors never shall come back to thee;" 
Who sleep in the tombs of the coral and caverns, 

That the secrets of God and the ocean shall keep. 
Over graves where no anthem or paeans are rising, 

Save only the winds and sea gulls' wild shriek, — 
Weave for them garlands of beauty, baptize them 

With tears, and cast them with faith on the waves, 



THE SOLDIERS' MEMORIAL FREEDOM'S FRUITION. 57 




With a prayer to the God of the winds and the ocean 
To waft them o'er wandering, watery graves. 

UNKNOWN. 

The grave with the tablet of pathos appeahng 

To the heart with the saddest of records, ''Unknown;" 
With unwritten epitaph, save in the anguish 

And sorrow unbroken of one waiting alone. 
Who sighs at the sunset, and morn in awaking, 

He's "missing, but missing he may come even yet" — 
1\) adorn with the sweetest of flowers the sad altar 

Of hearts that are broken, oh! never forget. 
It tells of an aged father, wearied and waiting. 

With years growing feeble, and eyes growing dim. 
Who discovers at last, in God's great awaking. 

The "unknown" and missing one waiting for him. 
Or the long patient wife, or fond, loving mother. 

Or true heart that hopes ever on in despair. 
Her fruition at last finds over the valley, 

For tlie unknown and missing are all "present" there. 

REQUIESCAT IN PACE. 

Then bring the flowers, the fresh, bright flowers, and cover 
the graves where heroes rest. 



58 THE PIONEER IN HUMBLE PA THS. 

Unfurl the flag! where no bondman cowers, and yeomen 

are kings, and man is blest; 
Where freedom, at last, shall crown a race; where rich nor 

poor shall vassals be, 
But all endeavor, in peace and grace, to attain the crown of 

equality, — 
In home and forum, in church and state, nor rank, nor 

pomp, nor high, nor low; 
Where rulers are servants, and huml)le arc great, and the 

banner of peace in refulgent glow 
Shall conquer all arms, and pride, and place, and the glorious 

triumph of all shall be 
In the freedom that comes to crown a race with the royal 

crown of equality. 



THE PIONEER IN HUMBLE PATHS. 

Primeval forest! gloomy! grand! 

Where thoughts are born to live on high, 
That move the souls of men to stand. 

And for the rights of man to die. 

With lark and sunrise forth he goes. 
For home to conquer hearts of oak, 

With heart of love, that fealty knows. 
And to his arm lends mighty stroke. 

The yeoman Woodsman, staunch and true,- 
With courage born of noble heart. 

He scorns the wrong, and dares to do, 
In Inuuble paths, a Godlike part. 







FORTY CENTS— GOD IS ACCOUNTING. 

RESPK.CTFULLV INSCRIBED TO THE SWEATERS, AND TO THE 
BUSINESS MEN WHO MAKE SUCH A SYSTEM POSSIBLE. 

Forty cent? — Forty cents — 

.She stitches and sews. 
Forty cents — Forty cents— 

The winter wind blows! 
Forty cents for each dozen, 

And God only knows 

The child's chalice of woes. 

Hands weary and red, 
Cheeks pale as the dead; 
59 



6o FOR T Y CEN 7^S—G0D IS A CCO UN TING. 

She is fourteen years old — 
Forty cents — She's a working girl, — 
Let her brain weary whirl, — 
Slave to a miser churl 

Hoarding up gold. 

Want plowing furrows, 
Disease making burrows, 

She is fourteen years old. 
Heed not her imploring look. 
Fear not the warning book; 
God's poor — and his wrath to brook — 

Grind to get gold. 

She stitches and sews. 
Life ebbs, — never fiows. 

Only fourteen years old, — 
While on her face you read 
Hope's death, and bitter need. 
Miser)' for her decreed 

Adds to your gold. 

She is fourteen years old. 
Grind her down till sore want, 
Insatiate and gaunt. 
Drives her to the haunt 

Of vices untold. 
Then, Christians, pray for her, 
While fiends lay snares for her, 
None then to care for her. 

All hoarding gold. 

Forty cents — Does she sweat? 
Canst thou, Christ, forget? 
Forty cents — Where are the preachers? 



THE SOLDIER. 6l 

She is one of Christ's creatures, 
She is wearing his features — 

"Fourteen years old.'' 
They forget when he turned 
The money tables and spurned 
The sweaters who yearned 

To hoard up more gold. 

Forty cents for the working girl; 
Let her brain fevered whirl, — 

Lips growing white almost as the snows. 

She is only fourteen, and dying, but sews; — 
Sews where disease and vice ever dwell; 
Sews in a den that's the threshold of hell, 

That you may gain gold 

Though your soul may be sold. 

Forty cents — she is counting — 

Forty cents — God's accounting. 
Ah, here, here for her is fortune at last. 
Her little heart throbbing, yet faster, more fast, 

Forty cents — she is counting — 
"Five pennies for fare, and five for bread. 

And five for — " "Forty cents, forty cents." 
Then the notice was read. 
The sewing girl's dead, 

And God is accounting. 



THE SOLDIER. 

Give honor to all to whom it is due. 
Who duty or death never parried; 

But honor the soldier anew and anew 
Whose shoulder the bayonet carried. 



62 



CACTUS.— THE GOD OF GOLD 





ll^JI CACTUS. 

^i«r>>i/|^|[N desert sand or arid plain, 
gpji .^5i! jl In bitter strife with alkali, 
iii^^(R-^'«i^lOr deluge of the beating rain, 

" \\. yet will bloom before 'twill die. 



THE GOD OF GOLD. 

"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man 
to enter into the kingdom of God." 

Cut them down, hoard your gold, 
Till your hearts' knell be tolled, 
Till your souls have been sold 
To your god, godless gold. 

Cut them down, gold to gain, 
Though the tears fall like rain, 
And you multiply pain 

By your scepter of gold, — 

Men whom the morning's ray 
Drives like beasts of prey 
Down to their dens away, 
Deep in the earth, 



THE GOD OF GOLD. 63 

To toil like the galley slave, 
In vain their last rest to save 
From scorn in pauper's grave, — 
Hoarding your gold. 

Cut them down on the rail; 
Let there be no avail 
In the cry or the wail 

Of want in their homes,- 

Whom fear never knew. 
By day and night true, 
Though they brave death for you, 
Who worship but gold. 

Cut them down at the bench. 
At the forge, in the trench, 
On the farm; turn the wrench. 
To gather more gold. 

Cut them down yet again 
Till you make tramps of men, 
And thieves of tramps, when 
You worship but gold. 

Heed not the imploring look, 
Fear not the warning book; 
God's poor, whom He ne'er forsook, 
Grind to get gold. 

Spare none, young or old. 
Till your hearts fill with mold. 
For your souls have been sold 
To your god, godless gold. 



64 THE TEMPERANCE MILLENNIUM. 



THE TEMPERANCE MILLENNIUM. 

The millciininm cloor is swingin', 

An' the belter is gettin' the lead 
Ov the bad, and the men are beginnin' 

To show signs of temperance feed; 
An' men unto men are hke brothers, 

For the Paradise Bird is their guest. 
An' the children and wives and mothers 

Are prayin' they'll all be blest. 

P'r'aps some ov 'em now will git dresses 

Who for years but rags have wore, 
With huggin's and lovin' caresses 

Where was growlin's an' kickin's before; 
An' some little ones will find fathers. 

An' fathers lost children will find 
Revealed in the tears that are fallin' 

Like scales droppin' off'n the blind. 

I reck'n that now thar'U be prayin' 

Where ther hasn't been prayin' for year: 
Nor wantin' be found in the weighin', 

Nor pillows all soakin' with tears; 
An' they'll eat the bread of love's leav'n 

Who've been breakin' the crusts of woe, 
That'll be like a foretaste of heaven 

Beginnin' on earth below; 

An' manhood that long has been layin' 

Chained down in the ruinin' bowl. 
Will put on the weapons for slayin' 



THE TEMPERANCE MILLENNIUM. 65 

The slayer of body and soul. 
An' hearts that rejoice, I'm knowin', 

Are many and pure and true, 
Baptized in the waters that's flowin' 

From the River of Life for you. 

An' the midnight watchin' and weepin' 

In trouble and want and shame, 
Will be changed for dreamin' an' sleepin' 

By the hearth with a hallowed name; 
In the home where sorrow's been sittin' 

Like a wolf fur nianv a dav. 
Will the Paradise Bird be tlittin', 

An' buildin' her nest to stay. 

Then the children will lisp a blessin', 

An' the winmiin will weep no more; 
For the days that were sad an' distressin' 

Are passin* for joys in store, 
While they pray for the Guardi'n Angels 

To be with 'em, an' keep 'em alway 
In the path where the wayside is plenty, 

An' the end is a golden day. 





■ ♦ -^ 




Where the venomous snake and the turtle crept. 
66 



CHICAGO TRIUMPHANT. 67 



CHICAGO TRIUMPHANT. 

181 2. 

Where the venomous snake and the turtle crept, 

And the buffalo roamed at will, 
In the weird, dank grass where the sunset slept, 

With the plaint of the whippoorwill; 
Where the prairie hen and her. wild brood soared, 

With a W'hir to the covert sky, 
From the flinted arrows a barbarous horde 

From bowstrings quivering fly; 

XMiere the wolf and her cubs, with yelping wail. 

Slunk away in the gathering gloom 
From the savage foe on the stealthy trail 

Of death's unerring doom, — 
There destiny willed, the strife of years 

Should be wrought, in peace or wars; 
Through the wager of death, of fire, of tears. 

Should arise the queen of the stars.* 

Then a voice was heard from the years to be, 

In a murmuring accent low, — 
"The way is dark to the inland sea, 

Winged winds of fever blow;" 
And hunger, and fire, and pestilence cry, 

'The chalice of woe we'll fill 
For all who dare." Then the firm reply 

Of destiny answered, *T will." 

And valorous men waged war with fate, 

And nature allied with foes 
* The States. 



68 CHICAGO TRIUMPHANT. 

Who knew no quarter, no code but hate, 

Or Hfe presei"ved for woes. 
Where the choice of rest in the arms of death 

Were mercy and peaceful bHss 
To the helhsh heat of the savage breath. 

Great God! And they suffered this! 

The blood of babes comminghng with sires'. 

That followed the shimmering ]:)lade 
Of the tomahawk, was as altar iires 

In the wake of the ambuscade; 
And the rippling waves on the gray lake side 

Lapped long their wandering bier; 
But the spirit that wTought in their lives ne'er died 

In the soul of the pioneer. 

They toiled and wrought though the dismal fiend 

Of pestilence stalked abroad, 
And the grave had garnered, and death had gleaned, 

All thresholds where mortals trod. 
The noonday sun on the virgin street 

Glared red on the dead unburied; 
And new-made graves each sunrise greet. 

Though her brave souls never wearied. 

Her courage renewed anew and again, 

With her watchward, "On and doing,'' 
Her noble women and valorous men, 

The right and endeavor pursuing. 
They builded and toiled, yea a thousand fold 

The fame of the city spreading, 
In science and arts; her conmierce untold 

The highways of earth was treading; — - 



CHICAGO TRIUMPHANT. 69 

Aye! buiUled and wroug'ht, leu thousand fold, 

As an alclieniist nuiltiplying; 
From her lap of plenty, on wings of gold, 

To the uttermost lands outlying. 
She sent her stores by the arrowed rail 

To the world in waiting wonder; 
Into every elime rode her \\hitened sail. 

And she spoke in tones of thunder, 

In her press and puli)it, and schools whose spires 

To the stars gave wondrous greeting, — 
\\'hen, lo! they paled! in the lurid fires 

That lit in the ghoulish meeting 
Of the dragons of fire with the spirit of hell. 

On her fair breast dropped their burning; — 
With her soul in ashes she prostrate fell, 

Her heart to embers turning. 

THE WAGER OF FIRE. 

By days! and nights! Great God! the sight 

Called forth man's help and pity, — 
The face of heaven turned black as night 

With the smoke of the seething city. 
Alen fought like gods, and horses like men; 

They battled and died together 
In the conflict of lire that again, yet again, 

Would break as 'twould burn forever. 

The unciuenchal)le fiend of nuiltiplied woes 

Burned on till hearts were turning, 
Till despair was king, and friends were foes. 

And brains like homes were burning, — 
Till the very stones did split and fiy 

And hiss at the flames that wrapt them, 



70 CHICAGO TRIUMPHANT. 

And the temples and spires of steel defy, 
Then fall to the fire that trapped them. 

Great sister cities, by steam's quick breath. 

Sent bravest of brave men to her, 
Who gave to the uttermost, even to death. 

From the demon of fire to rescue her. 
The "coal black horse" turned white as the snows 

With the foam of his grand endeavor. 
And his driver's name? Ah, well! God knows, 

And He will forget them never. 

When the embers of hope to despair had died, 

The great world heard the crying; 
The floodgates of love were opened wide. 

And the world with itself was vying 
As it poured on the altar both raiment and food. 

And sent, with lightning's flashes, 
"Have courage and cheer, for God is good!" 

And she answered, "I will," from her ashes. 



Then she gave to the breeze her banner unfurled. 

To dare and to do, for home and the world; 

Despair to disarm, to conquer the Fates; 

To dedicate all to the mind that creates; — 

By the spirit that springs from the ill of the past 

To the new, yet anew, to victory at last; — 

And, with strength of a Hercules, turned with a will, 

And wrought like a Trojan her task to fulfill. 

Then there sprang, like magic, a thousand domes, 
Ten times ten thousand homes, "Sweet Homes," 
And temples of trade, and churches of right, 




The face of heaven turned black as night 
With the smoke of the seething city. 



71 



72 CHICAGO TRIUMPHANT. 

Like spectral giants, arose in their might. 

Night turned to day, for Progress ne'er slept; 

With unwearying eye, her vigil she kept; 

She forged and chiseled, and reared anew, 

In marble and stone and steel she grew; 

With sinews of iron she forged and drilled, 

Till the world with her wondrous work was thrilled: — 

By her press and pulpit, fearless and true; 

By her courage and prowess to will and do; 

By her record in war, in peace, in art; 

By her commerce achieved in every mart; 

By her schools and colleges spreading wide; 

By her own good name from tide to tide; 

By the "bread on her waters" the world had cast; 

By the word of the Lord returned at last; 

By her noble women and men who dare, 

By the grace of God, the whole World's Fair! 

Chicago's welcome. 

Ho, Orient! Ho, Occident! Hail! Lapland's midnight reign! 
Hail, viking! shade of centuries! Hail, caravels of Spain! 
Ho, island of the South Sea! Ho, Afric's torrid zone! 
Hail and welcome, all mankind of mortal flesh and bone; 
And round our table gather every tongue and race and creed, 
And break the bread of "peace, good will," — no more can 
mortal need ! 

Columbia! O Columbia! you are welcome to our shore, 
In thy glory and thy splendor, that mortals all adore; 
In refulgence of thy temples; and thy godlike statue thrills 
Our pulse as with a fever, and our soul with rapture fills. 
Our heralds sound thy glory, and to all the world thy praise, 
Columbia! O Columbia! God grant thee length of days. 



CHICAGO TRIUMrHANT. 73 

With the cadence of the music that has gathered with the 

years, 
With the centuries grown richer, that ravish waiting ears, 
We welcome you, Columbia, we welcome all the world ; 
Our banquet hall is open, and our banners are unfurled. 
All nations have been bidden, all peoples can partake. 
And in the glorious fountain of ^lac^klonnies all can slake 
The thirst for beauty's grandeur, and high on peristyle 
Can feast on greater glories than famed the Grecian isle. 

In the sea of human voices outrolling to the spheres, 
Hear songs of love for mortals, of freedom without fears. 
No beggars knock unwelcomed at our La Rabida's door. 
And the glory of Columbus stands refulgent on our shore. 
In temples reared to science, progress, art, and fame, 
Not one who burned their incense, but here is carved his 

name. 
By Parthenon and Karnak, all ancient Rome and Greece 
Have built to war and victory; here all is raised to peace, 
Where gather sage, philosopher, and sons of savage sire, 
And opens wide in brotherhood the door of man's desire. 
All arms, all creeds, all wrongs to men, upon that altar lay; 
With heart of love for all mankind, to one God ever pray. 

The perfume of our gladness on all the winds shall blow, 
In praise, and pride, and glory of the city white as snow; 
To greet the sister planets shall paeans grand arise 
On the arrows of Diana, fair goddess in the skies. 
By day, Wliite City, beautiful! But swell of heaven's lyre 
Bursts forth in joy to praise her when the captive light- 
ning's fire 
Turns beauty into glory, to magnificence sublime, 
And crowns the work of mortals with the fiat of divine. 



74 CHICAGO TRIUMPHANT. 

Ho, Orient! Ho, Occident! Hail! Lapland's midnight reign! 
liail, viking! shade of centuries! Hail, caravels of Spain! 
Ho, island of the South Sea! Ho, Afric's torrid zone! 
Hail and welcome, all mankind of mortal flesh and bone, 
And round our table gather every tongue and race and creed. 
And break the bread of "peace, good will," — no more can 
mortal need. 

1812. 

Where the serpent crawled, and the turtle crept. 

And the buffalo roamed at will. 
In the weird, dank grass where the sunset slept, 

With the plaint of the whippoorwill. 

1893. 

The perfume of our gladness on all the winds shall blow, 
In praise, and ]3ri(le, and glory in the city white as snow. 
In the city built by valor, and redeemed from fiery flame, 
O Columbia, to thy glory, add Chicago's oriflamme. 

Chicago, October 9, 1893. 



' ' ..... .,. « 









SHERMAN AND PORTER MEMORIAL. 



SHERMAN AND PORTER MEMORIAL.* 

Brave soldiers born of Freedom's cause, tried sailors of the 

deep, 
Bear emblems of your sorrow, and warrior's honor keep! 
P.ring' tributes of devotion, where, with reverential tread, 
A Nation comes uncovered, in the presence of her dead. 

Float low the glorious banner, and the union jack o'er 

waves. 
For them who sleep where Fame's videttes keep vigil o'er 

their graves, — 
For Sherman Ijrave on native land, and Porter on the tide ; 
In peace ami war, in life and death, twin patriots side by 

side. 

The flag their valor glor\' gave, at half-mast shall it rest! 
A signal from the mortal code, to immortals on the crest 
Of ramparts in the Eternal, that other patriot souls 
Have been summoned, and have answered to God's great 
muster-rolls. 

The farewell volley in the air, a knell within our breasts 
Re-echoes from their honored graves, where all that's mortal 

rests. 
And wakes the memory of the day, that starts the silent 

tears, 
And we battle and we bivouac in the record of the years — 

When clouds were lowering o'er the land and darkness on 

the deep; 
And Lincoln's soul was agonized; and armies dared not 

sleep, 

* Read at a joint Memorial held in the Auditorium, Chicago, March i, 1891. 



76 SHERMAN AND PORTER MEM0RE4L. 

From Donclson and Sliiloh to Atlanta's gauntlet run, 

And Union flag and union jack were defying Fisher's gun; 

When the waters of the rivers were fettered by the hand 
Of Mars, in strength of earth and steel, from James to Rio 

Grande, 
With batteries masked and hidden, as by an Arctic night. 
They came with souls in armored mail, of God's eternal 

right, — 

Came as the whirlwind cometh from the open hand of God, 
And broken shackles marked the path where mighty Free- 
dom trod. 
Then altars there were builded, and the sacrifice was laid, 
P"or the Nation's great dishonor, that by fire and sword was 
paid. 

On the shores of peaceful waters their prowess had released, 
And giv'n to sea and Freedom with their heritage increased, 
They have laid their bodies down; their souls have parried 

fears, 
And are marching to the minstrelsy of God's eternal spheres. 

Then may all honored heroes' graves become the holy grail 
Of a people reunited, and all loyalty prevail 
Tn the name of hallowed peace, a tribute to the just. 
Whose country's sword and honor were safest in their trust ; 

Tn peace or war true patriots, who spurned pretense, and 

gave 
To all accord most justly, whether titled prince or slave, 
Their whole lives teaching duty, as example only can, 
That the loyal must be first of all a true American. 



UR CO UN TR y A ND FLA G. 77 

The galax}' of stars they sealed for union, law, and land, 

In crimson of fidelity and white of virtue's band, 

Shall nevermore be tarnished; but high o'er school and 

home 
Shall ever float the signal Rag of Freedom's sacred dome. 

Ho! comrades and companions, and League of Tennessee.. 
Grand Sons of Revolution and Shipmates of the Sea, 
Bring incense, all true patriots, all sons of loyal sires. 
All maidens fair, all women true, and light the altar fires — 

Of deep devotion to the flag, and fealty here renew, 
By open graves of lo\al men who to that flag were true, 
That with our honor and our lives, come weal or bitter woes, 
We'll stand a wall of strong defense 'gainst seen or unseen 
foes. 

In presence of the immortals, they are marching through 

the gate. 
Where Lincoln, Grant and Farragut and Logan legions 

wait; 
With heaven's sweet reveille their ranks are opening wide 
To welcome Sherman, Porter there, true patriots side by 

side. 



OUR COUNTRY AND FLAG. 

Each, with the other, imsullied, unljroken, 

Reflecting the deeds that have brought her renown, 

Mankind's inspiration, of Freedom the token; 
Her )eomanry Kings, each wearing a crown. 




"An' lie petted the boy, — but he come to see her!' 



73 



LARIA r DAN. 79 



LARIAT DAN. 

THE TALE HE TOLD TO '■^' OSTLER JOE. ' 

Wall, pard, I dunno; fer, you see, that's a tale 

That has alius been sort o' tender with me, — 
Makes me feel kind o' queer; beside, pard, you know 

Sech things hadn't orter be talked about free. 
A Duke? Wall, yes; that's what they all said; 

But I never jest knowed whatever it meant. 
Didn't seem more'n me or you, 'ceptin' talk 

Kind o' drawley, and his clothes had a linerment scent. 

Dead? No, pard, not so far as I ever hearn tell. 

That's why I feel bad when I think o' that day — 
An' Viroky, and Curry, — that's my boy, little Cur. 

But, Joe, we'll go down whar the waterfalls play. 
Away from the wimmen folks, down the canon. 

An' I'll tell you the tale; but, pard, look ye hyar. 
What I tell let the grove of little pihon 

Reveal before }ou. Now, pard, do you sw'ar? 

It's yours, pard; then, listen. It was jest about thar — 

An', fust, you'll remember 'bout two year ago. 
When them Britisher fellers with the dogs come out hyar, 

An' bought the big ranch on the Rio Pedro. 
Wall, that feller so sleek, — the one they called Duke, — 

He took a great likin' to Viroky and Cur, 
An' he used ter come round, and he talked mighty fine. 

An' he petted the boy, — but he come to see her! — 

Viroky — leastways, that's how it hitched up to me — 
That is, pard, but — wall, I couldn't say much. 



So LARIAT DA Ar. 

Fer, you see, I am rough, an' Virokv — wall thar, 
My feelin's are comin' ag'in. But then, such 

As I was, she took mc, an' we lived on the squar'. 
An' Viroky — but, pard, 'bout that you know all, — 

Jest how like a rose on the desert she seemed, 

With her ha'r, wire gold, wavin' down like the fall. 

An' her eyes, pard. thar's in 'em that deep kind o' look 

That you know alius comes from the squar' an' the true; 
And her lips has got on 'em that true woman brand 

That you know, but you never can tell why you do. 
An' I, you see, pard, am a rough kind o' knot, 

All knurly outside; but the heart's jist as fine 
As it is whar the bark is so sleek and so smooth 

That it wouldn't pertect jist the tenderest vine. 

Wall, he'd come an' he'd bring little knacks fer the boy; 

An' he'd tell 'em great tales of the city an' things, 
Kind o' half temptin' like. To A^iroky he'd say 

That she could jist dine with the lords an' the kings. 
An' out on a ranch was no place for her kind. 

With her figger and face; she could jist be a queen, — 
That is, social like, — with the princes and dukes; 

That none jist like her they ever had seen. 

An' then he'd bring flowers, — mount'in roses an' ferns, 

An' cactus blooms too; fer she loved 'em all well, — 
I've knowed her to ride over snow-banks in June 

Fer the little jump-ups an' weepin' bluebell, — • 
An' he'd call 'em big names, an' then he would say 

How they jist was like her, — bloomin' out o' thar place, 
An' a wastin' her life on the desert an' rocks. 

When the lords would jist worship her style an' her face. 



UXCLE MOSE O.V MA TTER AXD MIXD. Si 

So the fall it come on, an' the Duke he come too, 

Purty reg'lar like, to the ranch every clay; 
An' Viroky — wall, pard, thar's no blamin' her, 

Fer you see, it was, pard — it was jist this 'ere way — 
Viroky, you know — I could see in her eyes 

What she wished, — an' to please her — it wasn't no sin — 
So I punished the features plum ofif'n that Duke, 

An' he'll never come foolin' aroun' hyar ai^'in. 



UNCLE MOSE ON MATTER AND MIND. 

No absence ov matter with me kin ab. 

Nor messmirisem kin mess; 
No babblin' brooks round me kin bab, 

No ethicle essence kin ess. 
No occultisiu with me kin cult. 

No Buddhism round me bud, 
No 'dulteration with me kin dult, 

And matter will be just mud. 
No glitterin' gleams round hyar kin glit, 

Nor microbes roost up high. 
Nor twitterin' parasites kin twit; 

Nor aniiualkulcs kin fly. 

The cold fact is, thar's hunger an' cold, 

An' the world wants food an' drink ; 
An' its essence of nonsense, wdiat I am told, 

It kan all be done with a think. 
For "thinkin' an' faith is dead without works, 

Fer disease an' hunger an' woe; 
If you leave out doin', yer simply shirks, 

An' your pray'rs and faith won't go. 



82 EAR Til ' S II URRICA NE DE CK. 

EARTH'S HURRICANE DECK. 

WITH APOLOGIES TO S. K. HOOPER. 

When days are weary, and night's nightmare, 

And nerves and muscle and brain 
With business cares are worn threadbare, 

And you seek for rest in vain, 
Then "grab" your "grip," and steal away. 

With rod and gun in hand. 
And taste the joys that wait alway 

On the Denver and Rio Grande. 

You drink the waters of "Ule and Ute," 

And "angle" with girls at "Alanitou," 
And mountain sheep — if you can — you shoot, 

While you "gambol" around "Mule Shoe." 
But, as you're climbing the "Yeta Pass," 

You think of the "golden strand;" 
For the very angels cry "We, too, pass," 

On the scenes of the Rio Grande. 

Then, sing no more of "Killarney Lakes," 

While the summit holds "Loch Katrine," 
And mountain crags — why, "Toltec" takes 

The "scalps" from the whole "Alpine." 
If you'd like to go up and steal a sly peep 

Where "saints in glory — 'can't' — stand," 
It's on top — when you get there — of "Hurricane Peak," 

On the Denver and Rio Grande. 

For every known ill the "climate's a cure," 
From blues to joys you can fly; 



EAKTir S HURRICANE DECK. 83 

And in Denver, they say, the "air's so pure" 

Politicians and papers don't He; 
And the ravishing sounds in the "Cave of the Wind" 

You would think are a heavenly band: 
The point nearest heaven most of us may find 

On the Denver and Rio Grande. 

The "Garden of Eden" hasn't got any "style" 

As a summer resort any more; 
But you "walk in the air" at the height of a mile 

When tlie "Garden of Gods" you explore. 
In timnels and gorges, on crag and peak, 

In caiions the sun never spanned, 
Where the air is so thin a woman can't speak, 

And there's joy on the Rio Grande. 

It's "lolling" around on the "hurricane deck" 

Of the earth in a Pullman Car; 
A "bridal veil'' cloud you can tuck in your neck 

And hang your hat up on a star. 
Your "drink" is the "cream" of the "milky way," 

Your "fare" is the "fat" of the land ; 
For a "roaring" big time you can "Hooper" away 

"High up" on the Rio Grande. 




iiii^ 



84 



BELIEVERS AND DISSENTERS. 



BELIEVERS AND DISSENTERS. 



■^ii 







~x 




O okl and yoniig-, to rich or poor, 
Believers and dissenters, 
/' U., AH who would hear a gospel pure — 

All priests and covenanters — 
^t^' Of charity and work of grace 
That raise the home and nation, 
That elevate the human race. 
Without re8:ard to station: 



'Tis but to love your fellow man, 

And make that your "profession," 
And live according to this plan. 

The Lord won't charge digression 
If you should trip on creed, or bead. 

Or "cant," or doctrination; 
Or fail to see a Godlike deed 

Tn sin's "fore-ordination;" 



BELIEVERS AND DISSENTERS. 

Or fail to sit, to stand, or nod, 

As quite obligatory. 
But, rather, look through right to God, 

Nor fear a purgatory. 
The easy pew, upholstered rich. 

And doctrines honey dew. 
May please as would a weird fetich 

That rings on truth curfew. 

So let the dust on "doctrine's" bones 

Be never brushed away, 
And that which love or God disowns 

Be left to just decay. 
Then love thy neighbor as thyself, 

God's great conunandment new; 
Nor is he false to God or self 

Who to mankind is true. 



85 




86 PALMER LAKE, COLORADO— LLAPPLNESS. 



PALMER LAKE, COLORADO. 

A gem upon the crest she Hes, 

Where pillared spires the ranges break, 

Reflecting stars in noonday skies, 
The summit's jewel. Palmer Lake. 

Killarney's and Geneva's shores 

No thrill so pure can e'er awake; 
Here Freedom breaks all prison doors, 

And feasts the soul at Palmer Lake. 

No legend sad thy beauty mars, 

Of clanking chains or feudal hate; 
But from thy depths stars glance to stars 

Like kisses thrown from Palmer Lake. 

Mount of the Holy Cross, and peak. 

Thy valiant guardians, stand, and break 

The Storm King's wrath, that here shall wreak 
Not one coarse breath, sweet Palmer Lake. 

Thy waters, clear as pure Siloam, 
For mirror would a goddess take; 

And Cupid on thy shores his home, 

With Love, would choose, sweet Palmer Lake. 



HAPPINESS. 

Join hope and heart to faith and truth. 
Unto their altar incense bring; 

Lo! thou shalt find the joys of youth 
Enduring as Pierian spring. 










i. 



A BIRTHDAY GREETING. 

TO MY WIFE WIIH A PRESENT OF JEWELS. 

One thousand leagues afar from thee, 
My Love, from thee, — my love, from thee, 

On this thy natal day to be. 

My Love, — so far away to be! 
And yet my love insatiate 
Those leagues doth all annihilate, 

And I'm with thee, 

My Love, with thee. 

My heart its prison breaks, my Love; 
My love all distance scorns, my Love, — 

And far away it flies to thee, — 

It flies away with thee to be; 
And on its wings this token bears, 
87 



88 A BIR THDA Y GREE TING. 

And by its purity, Love, swears 
For thee, — for thee, 
Love, — swears for thee. 

And wear it, Love, wliere it may feel 

Thy warm blood pulse with each heart-beat, 

And back "twill give with that appeal. 

And. from its jewel depths, reveal 
The love I'd fain lay at thy feet. 

And from those sparkling depths shall rise, 

Responsive to thy glances sweet, 
Ecstatic bliss! love's sweet surprise, 
That oft Lve read in thine own eyes 
When thine and mine in rapture meet. 

So may our love full rounded be, — 
All mine! all thine! — and without end, 

Or ebb, or flow, but ever free 

In one full realm of ecstacy 

And joy that love alone can blend. 

And as these jewels brighter glow- 
In darkest chambers, so I pray 
Our love may sweeter, stronger grow. 
Should fate a shadow o'er us throw. 
Till shadow s end in endless day. 

And so, mv Love, though far from thee. 

So far from thee. 
This day, I pray thou'lt happy be, 

Most happy be; 
For greeting. Love, I send to thee, — 

Love's greeting unto thee, — 
To thee. 



A BIR THDA V GREE TING. 

And may thy life with many days 
And years of joy full measured be, 

With loving friends to cheer always, 
And sorrow's tears be far from thee. 

And I would build within thy breast 
An altar pure, love's holy shrine; 

Thy husband's love should be its crest, 
With fond devotion truly thine. 

And so its fires should brightly burn, 
Enkindled by thy loving heart; 

And from all else he'd ever turn 
To thee, nor from thee ever part. 

Thy children's happy hours should be 
The daily incense offered there, 

That, in their love's simplicit}-. 

Thou shouldst but read a daily prayer. 

May loving kindness be thy star 

To guide thy life, — and mine and ours. 

In all life's paths, so near, so far. 
Shall each and all have happy hours. 




QO 



UNCLE MOSE'S KRISTMAS POIM. 



UNCLE MOSE'S KRISTMAS POIM. 

The sole that does some givin' 
Will be better fit for liviii': 
Then fergive an' be fergivin'; 
Yerll be better fit fer heavin. 
When the eastern star was blazin', 
Hope and faith in man wuz raisin'; 
And the better'll be yer praisin' 

Of the Bethrem Ijabe tu-day, 
If yer don't fergit the givin' 
To the sinkin' soul that's drivin 

To dispair without a ray 
Of hope to break the gloamin' 
When from right to wrong he's roamin'. 
So, while bells of joy are ringin', 
And the children carols singin', 
Yer kin do His will by bringin' 
Kristmas joy to one in trouble, 
An' yer own joy therebi double. 




CRIPPLE TIM AND THE CHARITY BALL. 



91 



CRIPPLE TIM AND THE CHARITY BALL. 



'Twas the eve of a brilliant 

charity ball; 
The streets were gay, and 

the gorgeous hall 
Was a blaze of glory, — 

"and the spirit of all 
Was for "charity's sake.'' 

For often as ye 
To the least of these do, 

ye do unto me. 

By a cafe window "Cripple 
Tim" stood. 

Eagerly gazing through 
at the food, 

L^nnoticed by all on the 
busy street. 

He looked on plenty, with 
nothing to eat. 

Then he turned and shout- 
ed, "Shines for all; 
Shine 'em up free for the charity ball." 

''Has the world lost pity?" a still voice speaks. 
And tears course down over Tim's pale checks 
To lips that in days gone by had prayed 
"Forgive us; and give us our daily bread," — 
Alocking words crushed out in the strife, 
Rememl;ercd no more in his struggle for life. 
Then, weary and sick, ragged and cold. 




92 CRIPPLE TIM AND THE CHARITY BALL. 

''Cripple Tim" climbed to his attic old, 
And found, in tears 

Only orphans weep, 
The balm for fears 

And hunger, — sleep. 

In a fevers dream he beheld a star 

From the east come guiding: a glittering car 




To his attic old, — with a beautiful maid 
In dazzling splendors rich arrayed. 
In her hands she carried a loaf and bowl; 
Her lips and eyes brought food for the soul, 
Yielding a harvest of multiplied love. 
"Good will on earth'' lays treasures above; 
Who gives shall receive. 



CRirPLE TIM AND THE CHARITY BALL. 93 

In a double fold, 
Heart treasures in sheaves 
That arc richer than gold. 

Then he murmured low: "Now, boys, let's all 
Rub shines free gratis for the charity ball." 
The mother of love spread out her wings, 
And a song unheard the Dark Angel sings: 
^Vith its dying note the life chord broke; 
lie parted from men, but with gods awoke. 

His box and brush 

Will know him no more: 

"Cripple Tim" spoke 
From the other shore. 

The dark-winged angel had kissed his brow; 
With the mother of love he resteth now; 
He whispered the words, in passing to sleep, 
"I know them \\\\o love me, — they feed my sheep." 

Sweet music swelled from the banquet hall, 
And life and love heard the Master's call. 
The l.^eautiful maid and the cavalier 
In charity gave, the world to cheer. 
There is gold enough for all. The world 
Most needs the banner of love unfurled 

In the h.eart of man. 

The Christ-like plan. 



94 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 



LOVE'S DESPAIR. 



Have you felt the qiiakings, 

The weary heart achings, . 
Of love that is spurned with bitterest scorn; 

And your faith but discloses, 

'Neath the smiles and the roses, 
Deception there forging a life-piercing thorn? 

Have you drunk from love's chalice 

Woe, misery, and malice, 
And Fidelity summoned no angel to warn? 

Has your soul, like a seabird 

When only woe's shriek is heard. 
Been storm tossed from wave crest to wave crest 

Of woe, through a sea trough of gloom, 
Back to the caverns of memory's wild unrest. 

Where stalks but the specter of doom. 
And the heart beats the knell of hope in its breaking. 

Breaking and sinking to the lost spirits' lair. 
Till you prayed for the sleep that knows no awaking, 

That only is solace for souls in despair? 




THE CONGRESS OF RELIGION IN PEDRO RANCH. 95 



THE CONGRESS OF RELIGION IN PEDRO RANCH. 

The night was dark in Pedro Ranch, 

The rain in torrents pouring; 
And, mingUng with the thunder's crash, 

SlumgulHon Creek was roaring. 

The midnight howls of dogs, were heard, 

And notes of burros braying; 
With growls of coyotes, wolves, and bears, 

And bronchos wildly neighing. 

Far up the creek, with sickly light. 
Which scarce the darkness battled, 

A tallow dip was blazing through 
A window badly rattled. 

But stealthily there gathered there. 
And jerked the old latch handle, 

A score of men who kept no score 
Save by a tallow candle. 

They came in w^et; but all were dry. 

And on their sober faces 
A hidden scheme could then be seen 

As plainly as four aces. 

Each, with six-shooter at his side, 

And lasso like all rangers. 
Sombrero hat and boots and spurs, 

Seemed rough and strange to strangers. 



96 THE CONGRESS OF RELIGION IN PEDRO RANCH. 

At length the captain grave arose, 
And stated, "That this meetin' 

Wuz called to-night especial fur 
A gang of preachurs' greetin'. 

"These chaps yer see around hyar, pards, 

Without no overhauls, 
Air preachurs what go rangin' round 

To start up new corrals. 

"We'll give 'em fust the grand hello. 

What some folks call salutin': 
All ready, pards; git up thar, Joe; 

Together all; — that's shootin'. 

"O. K. Now, pards, the racket is 

To deal 'em all good hands, 
An' interjuice these pilgrims hyar 

Accordin' to thar brands. 

"The fust one, pards, a standin' hyar 

Comes of a w-ater breed ; 
His tongue runs cl'ar around the range, 

His jaws have gone to seed. 

"I heer he holds trump keerds on talk, 

An' never hez been called; 
An' when he opens at short range. 

His language turns 'em bawld. 

"His nanie is writ along the trail 

With not a sinner's loss; 
His belt is full of scalps he's took, 

For he's a Baptist boss: 



THE CONGRESS OF RELIGION IN PEDRO RANCH. 97 

"Fur when he goes to start a ranch 

On this earth anywheres, 
The mangy sinners all give up, 

An' go to sayin' prayers, 

"This other moke yer see up hyar, 

In common kind of clothes. 
With just three spots whar ain't no ha'r, 

His chin, his scalp, and nose,- 

"His tongue don't wag like most ov 'em, 

An' still he gits thar too; 
He's solid on the great, big range, 

An' rustles squar' an' true, — 

"An' sometimes I hev knowed the whelp, 

With quiet kind ov tone, 
To slide up on the howlin' breed. 

An' walk off with his bone. 

" 'Tain't alius noise that bags the game, 

Fer often mum's the plan; 
An' I hev hurd, in Heavin's range 

They're stuck on Quaker Dan. 

"The other pilgrim over thar 

Comes from a fightin' breed, 
An' sometimes shoots a paper wad 

That sinners howl to read. 

"He trails along upon a scent 

That big corrals hev riz. 
An' hundreds hev been lassoed in 

With that long tongue ov his. 



gS THE CONGRESS OF RELIGION IN REDRO RANCH. 

"Thar ain't no grief kin down this chap. 

At least thar ain't none yit; 
And, when he starts to round 'em up, 

The devil has to quit. 

"He ain't so very big, yer see; 

But, pards, this feller owns 
An' runs a pair of thoroughbred 

Boss JMethodist jaw bones. 

"Now hyar's a pair of travelin' kids. 

They ain't jist like the rest; 
But they hev knocked some awful holes 

Into the sinner's breast. 

"Yer see, one ov 'em's flush on song, 

And t'other talks his pull; 
But, when they start the music up. 

They fdls corrals chuck full. 

"They're called Evangelistic breed, 

Thar range is wide about; 
An', when they strike the sinners' camp, 

Tha' turn 'em inside out. 

"And now, then, pards, — the last, not least, — 

I'll introduce a pa'r 
Who rustle round the hull big range, 

An' always on the squar'. 

"They get rite on the buUyvards, 

Where fattened sinners feed; 
An', when they throw thar lassos out, 

'Tain't baited with a creed. 



CONGRESS OF RELIGION IN PEDRO RANCH. 

"Then fer the I'ad Lands they will break, 
Whar holler horns air mired: 

They'll go rite in an' pull 'em out, 
And never onct get tired. 

"Thar's men an' women in thar herd 

Who ain't afraid ov pride ; 
An' from the signs left on thar trail, 

They tan the devil's hide. 

"Thar pedigree and brand is right, 
Thar grip gits hold of mokes, 

An' they air known the hull world round, — 
Salvation Armv folks." 



99 




JIM IX THE BLIZZARD. 



JIM IN THE BLIZZARD. 

Thur never has a snowflake fell 

Si]ice come nine year to-morrer, 
Thet don't drag up from mern'ry's well 

A night that's filled with sorrer; 
An', when that time ov year comes round, 

An' weather vanes, like wizards. 
Are pointin' kind ov specter like, 

To whur they breed them blizzards, — 

Then onct again I hear the mones 

Of wind an' snow a blowhi', 
An' through the marrer ov my bones 

I feel the zeroes goin'. 
Thet nite wus cold as debt an' cost, 

An' had no warmer feelin', — 
An' Jim an' me that nite wus lost, 

An' tlirough the storm went reelin'. 

Pore little Jim. Say, stranger, say: 

Hes yore heart strings bin broken 
An' snapped by grief, like ocean spray 

Agin' the rocks, in token 
Ov love thet jist kin only die 

P'er them yer feel air leavin'? 
Then, stranger, yer won't think I lie 

In this yer tale I'm weavin'. 

I tied a cord round me an' Jim, 

So thet we'd keep together, 
An' he'd lead me, or I'd pull him, 

In tliet nite's blastin' weather; 



JIM IN THE BUZZARD. 

Or else Td carry him a bit, 

But he'd jist rather hustle 
Rite by my side, fer he wus g'rit, 

An chock plum full ov rustle. 

Jist 'bout midnite a rippin' Ijlast 

Cum like a howlin' coyote. 
An Jim an' me apart wus cast. 

An" I heerd a monein" cryout, — ■ 
But only onct, — then till daylite 

The winds went wiUlly hummin' 
My shriekin' cry all ov tb.ct nitc: 

"Pore Jim! Hvar, Jim! Fm comin'!" 

Oh, Mister, may ver never know 

The grief them six hours follered. 
While, climbin' through thet blindin' snov\', 

Fer Jim I lived an' hollered. 
Them hours like years did rack my soul, 

An' my hair thet, at milkin' 
The nite afore, wus black as coal, 

Hed turned like corn a silkin'. 

Pore Jim! T give liim up fer dead; 

An' when the day \vu.; breakin', 
I got the p'ints, and forged ahead 

Fer home, with my heart achin' 
In grief and sorrer for his fate, — 

I wished Fd froze A\idi him; 
When, blast me, wigglin' through the gate, 

Thet blame pup met me, — Jim. 
An' my folks said, fer six hours straight. 

Curled by the fire he'd bin, — 

Thet houn' pup rite thur, — Jim. 




102 



DAN MULDOON'S CHURCH A T CRIPPLE CREEK. 103 



DAN MULDOON'S CHURCH AT CRIPPLE CREEK. 

The shadows on the mountain side 

Were gradually ascending, 
The pack trains toward the night corral 

Their weary ways were wending, 
Just as the sunlight left the peaks, 

In dusk the valley wrapping, 
And stars were lighting in the skies, 

And nature courted napping. 

A stranger came to Cripple Camp; 

He was not an old timer. 
His dress betokened not a tramp, 

Nor yet a working miner. 
In manner gentle, firm, and free, 

L'p to Aluldoon's he walked. 
And spoke for lodging for the night, 

Nor drank nor smoked nor talked. 

Domingo Jack was sitting by. 

And listlessly addressed him 
\\\\\\ '•?\Iister, be you tenderfoot?" 

And for a drink he pressed him. 
The stranger turned, and calmly said 

To Jack, of hardened feature, 
"Kind sir, I neither treat nor drink, 

For I'm an M. E. preacher. 

"And, friend, at ten to-morrow morn — 

Lord willing, and IMuldocn — 
The notice can be given out, 



i04 DAN MULDOON'S CHURCH AT CRIPPLE CREEK. 

I'll preach in this saloon." 
Domingo Jack and Windlass Jim 

Just roared, in wild derision, 
And said no Sunday preaching there, 

Ple'd find, was their decision. 

But Muldoon, to their great surprise — 

It seemed like giant powder 
Exploding right before their eyes, — 

His thunder tone was louder — 
He said: "Fve always run this ranch 

Upon the solid teachin' 
That every man should have his say; 

And / say thar'll be preachin'." 

Then word went round all Cripple Creek, 

To cabins and saloons, 
That Sunday morn, at ten o'clock, 

Thcre'd be at Dan Aluldoon's 
A preaching. And the miners all 

Just roared like mountain lion. 
To think of hearing at IMuldoon's 

The songs of old Mount Zion. 

On Sunday morn the big saloon 

Was fixed up for the preaching, 
The beer kegs, barrels, and puncheon stools 

In rows across it reaching. 
A rough and motley crowd came in, 

Though not salvation seeking. 
But hoping for a fight or fun 

In Cripple Creek's first meeting. 

The preacher stood behind the bar. 
And said: "Now, friends, this morning 



DAN MULDOON'S CHURCH A T CRIPPLE CREEK. 105 

We'll open service in this camp 

By reading Sodom's warning." 
But, while he read, Domingo Jack 

And Windlass Jim kept playing 
A game of draw, and stopped not when 

The preacher started praying. 

And, just before he said "Amen," 

A wad of "mountain dew" 
Domingo Tack then molded up. 

And at the preacher threw. 
Right on his cheek it struck, and stayed, 

Just like a mole was rooted, 
And half the miners in the den 

For hallelujah hooted. 

The preacher mildly brushed it of¥, 

And Cjuietly did say 
That "half the gospel virtue was 

To watch, and light, and pray;" 
And, when he first prayed in a camp. 

He watched a little, also. 
And said the man who threw the quid 

Was no one but Domingo; 

And, if they'd give him half a chance, 

He'd make him seek for pardon 
For this and all his other sins. 

Or make hiiu travel Jordan. 
Mukloon jumped up, and quickly said, 

By Sodom and Gomorrah, 
The preacher there should have fair play, 

Or he'd be dead to-morrow. 



io6 DAN MULDOOM'S CIIVRCII A T CRIPPLE CREEK. 

The miners shouted loud and wild, 

And offered on Domingo 
To bet their dust and burros all; 

But Muldoon stopped the lingo. 
Beside the preacher quick he jumped, 

On a keg of old sour mash, 
And said, "Squar' dealin' for the gospel," 

Or the whole outfit he'd thrash. 

So well thev knew old Dan Muldoon, 

And that he kept his w'ord, 
'Twas still as any prospect liole, 

And not a sound was heard. 
And then he said for seven years 

Doniingo had been laggin' 
Around his place, and talkin' big, 

And blowin', and a braggin'. 

Just then the preacher, cool and calm, 

Stepped up l)eside Domingo, 
And told him he could now repent, 

Or he'd repent in limbo. 
The miners cheered, for cjuick they saw 

That fight was in the preacher, 
And in their favor he arose 

Above a gospel teacher. 

Domingo Jack gazed all around. 
At Dan Muldoon he stared, — - 

(With pistol drawn and cocked he stood), — 
Domingo Jack was scared. 

He knew the man who interfered 
Would "hop the twig" that day, 



DAN AfULDOON'S CHURCH AT CRIPPLE CREEK. 107 

' And yet he'd never had a figlit 
Where each one had fair play. 

Muldoon called "Time," and in the air, 

Six feet above the floor, 
The preacher raised Domingo Jack, 

And fired him out the door. 
Then back he walked behind the bar, 

While Mnldoon cleared the way, 
And then, "For poor Domingo Jack," 

He said, "now let us pray." 

Then for Domingo and the rest. 

In all of Cripple Creek, he prayed 
That they would each and all be blest, 

And strike the vein that rich assayed; 
And, as they worked it deeper down, 

Twould richer pan out all the way. 
Till at the end a golden crown 

For their reward they'd find that day. 

They understood that kind of prayer, 

And for the preacher they'd begun 
To have respect, and he went on 

Till with the sermon he was done. 
And then he said, when first he came 

To Cripple Creek, 'twas for the day; 
But now he thought that such a camp 

Should have a church without delay; 

And trusted each would do his part. 
And after meeting they would raise, 

He hoped, enough to make a start; 

And now, "Let's pray for means and ways;" 

And, while he prayed, their hearts were touched. 



io8 DAN MULDOON'S CHURCH A T CRIPPLE CREEK, 

And every eye was filled with tears 
As back, through memory's winding maze, 
He carried them to boyhood's years, 

When lullabies soothed all their cares, 

And loving mothers, while they slept, 
Breathed to the throne of grace, in prayers. 

Petitions that they might be kept, 
Whate'er befell, whate'er their fate. 

Pure, noble, true, with purpose high; 
And round them yet their spirits wait. 

A mother's prayers can never die. 

And when he said "Amen" that day, 

Not one was there in Dan's saloon 
But wished again to hear him pray, 

From Windlass Jim to Dan Muldoon. 
They saw a man, — no weak poltroon, 

Or coward cringing sycophant, 
Who always sings a begging tune, 

And prays in hypocritic cant. 

They passed a hat, and each one there 

Gave for the churcli, save Buckskin Joe, 
W'lio said he "didn't want no church." 

"That's me too," chimed Domingo; 
But Muldoon had the hat, and he 

Said every one must drill or pick, 
And his request "in scriptur" wuz 

"To do it mighty gol durn quick." 

He didn't want no shirkin' round 

In this here camp, and he'd advise 
To make a start in gospel work 




Then for Domingo and the rest, 
In all of Cripple Creek, he prayed. 



109 



i[o DAN MULDOON'S CHURCH AT CRIPPLE CREEK. 

By givin' them a good baptize; 
And after that, if they'd refuse, 

Why, he had just this much to say, 
He'd make them fellers marrow down 

At pistol point, and give and pray. 

"This camp's been runnin' long enough 

Without the ineans o' grace at hand. 
And I propose to raise the stuff 

To start a first-class gospel stand." 
Domingo said to Buckskin Joe, 

"I guess we'd better chip her in, 
Than take a douse in Las Rio; 

So pass her, Dan, an' take the tin." 

Then Dan proposed they form a shift 

To watch and work the gospel claim; 
And, when 'twas done, the preacher said, 

He thanked them all in Zion's name; 
And then his voice in cahoned rocks 

The "Rock of Ages" echoed there, 
The first one since the eruptive shocks 

TIad raised the peaks to heaven's air. 

And so, in Cripple Creek to-day, 

'Mid winter's snow and summer fair, 
A modest church spire points the way, 

That who would live must follow there. 
The force that gave it form and life 

W'as borne, as told in that saloon, 
By one who dared to stand for right. 

And won the heart of Dan Muldoon. 



A' CK y MO UN TA IN M U SINGS. 



ROCKY MOUNTAIN MUSINGS. 

Away iliroiigh sands of a cactus plain 

To peaks of perpetual snow, 
Throut^h smiling valleys of golden grain. 

Where perfumed breezes blow. 




I ifvunrpiK.' : 



WAY ! away ! when withering- care 
Hangs leaden weights around 
you; 
And trouble, with relentless 
share, 
Plows wrinkles deep upon 
you ; 
When foes without, and fears 

within. 

Both thick and fast assail you; 
Your hair — what's left — grows pale and thin, — 
I care not what may ail you, — 

Be it business, love, too much or none, 
Of one, or both, or neither; — 



2 ROCKY MO UN TA IN M U SINGS. 

Your nervous plexus is all undone 

By your doctor, and bills, or either; 
Your liver, or wife, or both, poor things, 

Grow languid, and trouble you sore, — 
Just take tliem both to the mineral springs, — 

Drink water, and mountains explore. 

THE MOUNTAIN PKAKS. 

Sphinx like are the peaks, cold, barren, and gray, — 

Earth's skeletons, — wrapped in the gloom 
Of immensity's ch.amber, eternity's day; 

In a desert of air is their tomb. 
There verdure succumbs, and lies down in its grave, 

Where timl^er-line, mighty and bokl, 
Draws the dead-line of earth, a grand architrave, 

With its epitaph rocks and the cold. 

Where snow never melts, and winds never cease; 

W'here winds never blow, and snow never falls; 
Where cataracts wild are never at peace. 

And the lake, in its calm, never ripples its walls; 
WHiere rocks are barren as Arabia's sands, 

W^here tropical fruits perennial bloom, 
Where the alkali earth's arid crevice expands, 

Where a harvest of gold is caught in the flume; 

Where below you the storm cloud will burst in its wrath, 

While above arc the skies blue as Italv's clime; 
Where the avalanche fierce has plowed its weird path, 

Where the glacier has left the footprint of time; 
Where raindrops a bowlder will start from its bed, 

And hurl like a Titan to fragments l^elow, 
And sustenance give to the mountain rose red, 

Or c[uench the hot thirst of the fawn or the doe; 



KOCK Y MO Ui\ TA IN MUSINGS. 1 13 

Where the glorious work of Creation's hand 

In the royal gorge grand and old, 
Overwhelms with awe, in the magical land 

Of the phantom rocks weird and bold; 
Where the tower of Isis, and red rock spires. 

Bear Nature's omnipotent brand; 
And Apollo, in the Temple of Music, his lyres 

Strikes with a master hand; 

Wliere the lion is heard, in the mountain and glen; 

Where peacefully feed the herd in the vale; 
Where the cry of the eagle, of cub in its den, 

And scream of the night liird, and wolf's dreary wail 
Are borne on the winds, and echoed from peaks 

Back into cafions the sun never spanned; — 
From the heights and the depths there eternally speaks 

The voice of Creation in majestic conuuand. 

THE KARKFIEI) AIR. 

The rarefied air, to your visual sense. 

In a phantasmagorial play. 
Will make things appear as just over the fence 

That are five hundred miles away. 
For a short breakfast walk, you start to explore 

The top of that hill over there. 
It's only a mile; — you'll declare it ain't more, — 

And erelong that it's ten, you'll declare. 

You think you will climb to the top of that peak, 

And you start with herculean strides; 
But in eight or ten hours, exhausted and weak, 

You are panting half way up its sides. 
Then you sit down to rest on a meteorite, 

And the top you will wistfully scan. 



114 ROCKY MOUNTAIN MUSINGS. 

With the brim of your hat for a theodoHte, 
And may yet al)andon the plan. 

Look out for that rill: it's a river, perhaps, 

In a masquerade suit made of air, 
And faced with illusions for tenderfoot chaps, 

With no warning' sign of "Beware." 
That water would float a full ship of the line 

Or a million of spindles would turn : 
While it looks no larger than number four twine, 

It is no little "babbling" concern — 

Meandering shiftless toward an old mill, 

Or in meadow asleep like a clam, 
So lazy a school-boy with scorn it would fill 

To accord the respect of a dam. 
If occasion requires, and the weather is good, — 

When excursions and picnics abound, — 
It will just water up to a genuine flood 

You can't dam, — but climb or get drowned. 

And you say, when you see the ditches and gates, 

That their chief engineer was a fool; 
Every time you turn round, you declare by the Fates, 

That the water runs up to the pool. 
Up grade is down here, down here is up there, — . 

Till, bewildered, you'll actually think, 
You'll have to get out of this double-barreled air 

Or stand on your head to drink. 

THE minister's VACATION. 

If your heart to devotional ways is inclined, 

And the world behind you would toss, 
Inspirational food everlasting you'll find 



ROCKY MOUNTAI^f MUSINGS. 115 

On the ]\Ioiint of the Holy Cross. 
You don't have to wander forty long years 

To gaze on the long- "Promised Land ;"' 
For the birds and the winds all sing in your ears, 

It's along on the Rio Grande. 

You can prove up your gospel just as you please, — 

For there certainly is, or is not, 
A Calvinist hell, or an Optimist ease. 

For briiustone is boiling up hot, — 
It may be from there, for all that we know; 

Yet water ten feet from that spot 
Is pouring so cold (it is twenty below) 

It would just freeze a poor Hottentot. 

You can ride — or you'll walk — the sons of the beast 

That Balaam rode once on a time; 
And all he will want is a gunny-sack feast, 

While from Dan to Beersheba he'll climb. 
On Cathedral rocks you can chisel your prayers, 

While your heart with joy will expand. 
That you took your vacation from, pastoral cares, 

On mountains and Rio Grande. 

THE PROSPECTOR. 

A strange and ubiquitous sort of a soul, 

Whose language is pleasing and bland, 
He always is ready to join in the bowl, 

And smoke — any sort of a brand. 
He will never refuse a drink or cigar. 

And talks of mines that are "fat," 
While out of his boots have wandered afar 

His toes, — like the hair from his hat. 



1 1 6 ROCKY MO UN TA IN M U SINGS. 

He will pull from his pocket a sample or two 

The size of a bean or a coon; 
Confidentially then he will slide up to you, 

And commence his gas-a-mine tune. 
He will tell you he sees a million in sight, 

And swear he's a Croesus who owns 
The vein that produced this fine sylvanite. 

Which perhaps is fine petrified cones. 

On a fragment, may be of extinct mastodon, 

In strong light he a focus obtains; 
Then a hogshead of air his lungs will take on. 

And you'd think he would rupture his veins 
By the force of the blast he blows on the bone, 

While he says "That's from the Trias," 
And you'd say he had eaten the whole "Blarney Stone,' 

And no dividend ever let pass. 

THE MINING ''EXPERT." 

His mail is immense; — he writes to them all — 

Or telegraphs, if he's alert — 
Just how to invest, on a put or a call, 

(If he don't he's a poor "expert.") 
In technical terms with precision he'll talk; 

You would think he surely'd born been 
In a crater, and rocked in a cradle of "talc," 

And nourished on diet of "hornblende." 

And he quotes, while gazing on mountains or stones, 

Metamorphic, eruptive, or shale; 
Jurassic, trachytic; of mastodon bones; 

Of a trilobite fossil or whale; 
Of petrified aqua, stalagmite, stalactite; 

Carboniferous beds. Palaeozoic; 



ROCK Y MO UNTA IN MUSINGS. 1 1 7 

Of basalt and granite; rhyolitc, andesite; 
Post-cretaceous and Cenozoic. 

The "Professor/' his partner, he generally knows 

All about "stocks/' "deals/' and a "slide/' 
And "ore on the dump/' and a "blow-out" that shows 

There's a "million'' somewhere inside. 
He's generous too; and, seeing it's you. 

He might be induced to divide, 
And give you a half for a thousand or two 

Spot cash, to develop, — then "slide." 

THE HUNTER (FROM THE HOARD OF TRADE). 

You can hunt any game, from lion to quail; 

And the smiles will set in your face 
When a cinnamon bear you meet o\\ the trail, 

And alive you get back from the chase; 
For hungry they're fleet, and you'll have to expect 

To determine his speed and power, 
And there might be a "squeeze" if you didn't connect 

With a tree-top's safety bower. 

In gunning for bear, men often have lost 

Their breath in a delicate scjueeze; 
And, again, on the horns of a "bull" they get tossed 

So high in the air they'll sneeze. 
Don't wait for a squeeze by a bear on the trail; 

And, when you get cornered, don't squeal; 
Go short on the turn, and long on leg bail. 

And put all your "futures" on heel; — 

That is, if you see, as many have done, 
Whose conduct is guarded with care. 
That better it is to assign and then run 



ii8 ROCKY MOUNTAIN MUSINGS. 

Than furnish a banquet for bear, 
Especially when yourself and a dog 

Are the assets, including a scare. 
Which, if you could sell on its size like a hog, 

Would make you a millionaire. 

THE MOUNTAIN MONARCH. 

The fiathorn elk and bighorn sheep 
' On the Greenhorn Mountains graze; 

From Powderhorn Valley and Hovenweep 

To the Elkhorn wend their ways: 
In twilight gray, or the early dawn. 

On lichen, from park to crag, 
Feed, as they go, the fawn and the doe, 

With the monarch of all, the stag. 

The huntsman's sport is rich and rare: 

At tlie novice they gaze in glee, — 
Then, with toss of head, and a royal air. 

Over mountain, through glen, they flee. 
By prowess you'll earn, or by strategy meet, 

The reward you seek ; and, still. 
When the forest king lies dead at your feet. 

Your heart with regret will fill. 

THE FRENZY FOR GOLD. 

On society's border a picture awaits, 

Of humanity's odds and ends: 
The rich and the poor, in tempting the Fates, 

Each with tlie other contends. 
"Slunigullion Gulch," and "Skeleton Ranch," 

And "Buzzards' Roost" are manned 



A" CK V MO UjV TA I.V M U SINGS. 1 1 9 

Against "Deadnian's Pit/' on ''Buckskin Branch," 
In the gold-ore mining land. 

Down deep in the earth they wrangle for gold; 

And lives and honor are laid 
On mammon's altar; and oft, behold! 

The ermine's trust's betrayed 
By the lust of gain, at the grave of truth; 

And manhood is often slain, 
Where virtue of age, and hope of youth. 

Are wrecked in a ruined' name. 




I20 



ZEKE AT THE 'NAUG'KAL BALL. 



ZEKE AT THE 'NAUG'RAL BALL. 

Can't pla}-? ]\Iister, is that what yer said? 

Don't want me ter play fer }cr 'naug'ral ball, 
When I jist reckon fer nigh on 'em all 

In our hull kentry I've ginerally played, 







,^.' ..-iSfc'" 



An' kin twist ole Virginny, ole Tucker er Zip, 
Er fiddle a waltz, or cotill'n, er skip ? 
An' I've come clean down from Cottonwood Fall, 
Jist to give yer a lift at the 'naug'ral ball. 



ZEKE AT THE 'NAUG'KAL BALL. I2I 

Chunes? Don't like the cluines? wall, that's kind o' queer, 
When to all ov the quiltin's and doin's we've went, 
An' played 'em all night fer nary a cent. 

An' Zeke he'd play too, — he's 'bout es high as a cheer, — 
An' we'd play for the charity balls an' the fairs; 
An' sometimes I'd lead 'em, er call fer the squares. 

An' Deacon Jones said, when Zeke touched a string, 

It seemed jist like angels beginnin' to sing. 

Fer, Mister, them ole-fashion chunes never fail 
T' make a man feel like a top on a spin 
When he hears "Choose pards," an' the fiddles begin. 

But, ]\Iister, if mebby, my playin' 's got stale, 
I kin jist go inside an' look on at yer ball, — 
I've liearn tell the preachers are down on it all, — 

An' if any on the fiddlers air hurt, at their say 

I'll give 'em a lift in the Cottonwood way. 

Laus! Wall, begosh! that beats the last fair; 

But, jumpin' Jerusha, what a calf-killin' chune; 

Thet kind o' noise "d make the man in the moon 
Turn over an' weep, yes! b'gosli, he'd jist swear. 

An' for clothes! wall, I'd reckon thet ain't a sin. 

But up to the Fall we'd say it was thin, — putty thin! 
Howsomever, I reckon thar ain't no kind ov guile, 
Es it's all fer the babies! thet nurserv stvle! 

Wall, shiver my luck, if they call this a dance 
With all ov thet scrapin' and stiff back salutin'; 
Why, up to the Fall they'd just begin hootin' 

If a feller 'd try thet sort o' stiff-legged prance; 
An' so long es I live I'll never ag'in 
Say shucks agin' preachers, fer thet way is a sin; 

An' if sometime you'll jist wander up to the Fall, 

We'll give yer a dance — -where they dance; — that is all. 



MY RAILROAD PASS. 
MY RAILROAD PASS. 

TO THE R. R. P. 'S AND G. R. A. ' S. 

Lament with me in verse and prose, 
And make a tail-race of your nose, 
And round your hat and gripsack drape 
A hundred yards of somber crape. 
Not that I mourn the dead, alas! 
But that no more I "deadhead" pass. 

The chalice of my woe I'll quaff, 

While from your Pullmans you but laugh. 

No more I'll read my title clear, 

When "Tickets" grates upon my ear. 

As up my pass I gently pass 

To him who now will punch, alas! 

Then go! you little pasteboard, go! 
(Oh, would I had not loved you so!) 
Farewell, farewell; I pass the past. 
And learn all flesh is grass at last. 
The "ties" that bound me to this pass 
I'll count hereafter as I pass. 

How like the knell of doom it seems 
To me when now the whistle screams; 
And "All aboard!" once music sweet, 
Is Pleasure's epitaph complete; 
For I must join the walking mass. 
Or pay the fare. Farewell, my pass. 



" THE JUDGMENT DA 1 ' IN BO ULDER. " 1 23 



"THE JUDGMENT DAY IN BOULDER." 

"Hey, Bob! What fetched yer hum so soon? 

I thought yer'd be late to-night; 
I reckoned the trail was mighty bad, — 

It has rained a powerful sight — 
Hi! Bob; why, what's a brewin'? 

That boy is sartinly sick. 
Hyar, Sally, he's wetter'n soakin' seed; 

Just fix him some grog right quick." 

"Lor! dad, he's nuid from heels to pate! 

And only just look at his ha'r; 
Why, drat the boy, he's oiY'n his sense. 

Now, Bob, yer jest look hyar; 
W'hat's all this starin' and ])uffin' al:)out? 

An' you've rode old Xell to death. 
Now swaller this down; it'll cool you off, 

An' help to git yer breath.'' 

"No, Sally, jest take that grog, 

And heave it right outen the door; 
I wouldn't drink the pizen stuff 

If I should never breathe no more.'' 
"Geerushlem! dad, he's goin' to die! 

He says he won't touch the stuff — 
That boy thar, dad, who never was knowed 

To sufficiently find enough." 

"I tell you, folks, the world has gone 

As crazy as any old loon; 
Or else I know the merlenyum's come, 

Fer I seen it in Dan's saloon. 



124 " THE JUDGMENT DA V IN BOULDER. 

Yer know it rained the heft o' the day, 

An' I felt ez dry ez a chip ; 
So I jest drapped into Dan's retreat 

To git my regnlar nip. 

"And Dan stood thar behin' the bar, 

A lookin' so solemn an' sad; 
Fer none o' the boys wuz standin' thar, 

An' I seen that he felt right bad. 
I looked aroun', an' the room was full 

Of winnnen, an' one did say: 
'Now, then, let's all kneel down again, 

An' special fer Dan let's pray.' 

"Then I begin to feel right queer 

To hear what them wimmen said; 
I jest vamoosed right out the door, 

While the ha'r riz up on my head; 
An' then I broke for Beebe's. 

As keeps the parlor 1)ar; 
An', oh lor'! dad, now what d'ye s'pose 

1 seen wuz standin' thar? 

"It was a kind o' recordin' angel. 

With a pen an' book in her hands, 
Jest like granny onct tol' me ov, 

That in the other world stands; 
An' she read suthin' outen the book 

While standin' thar at the door. 
And she talked with tears adown her face, 

That they all wouldn't drink no more. 

"An' standin' right thar beside her, 

An' singin', was Beebe and Cobb, 
An', when they see me, they hollered, 



" THE J UD GMEN T DAY IN BO ULDER. " 125 

'Now, then, let's pray for Bob.' 
Why, all the old gang wuz prayin' 

An' singin' like all possessed; 
An' quicker'n a jiff I topped ole Nell, 

An' she lit right out her best. 

"An' the way she gathered her hoofs. 

An' flung off the hollers and hills. 
Would 'stonish the ranch cl'ar outen thar boots, 

An' turn 'em pale white in the gills; 
Fer we come like a cyclone ragin' 

Nor stopped fer nary a b'ar, 
An' I reckon the track the hull way hum 

Looks like a slide'd been thar. 

"When we struck the trail at Taggart's, 

The houn's got onto our track; 
But in less than a holy minit, 

We had left the yelping pack, — 
Old Greaser and Tiger and Boney, 

That was nev'er outrun before, — 
Ole Nell got down on the alkali. 

And we left 'em forevermore. 

"When we got to the ford at Placer, 

The water was bowlderin' high ; 
An' the lightnin', was plowin' ov furrows, 

An' knockin' ov holes in the sky. 
The trees were bendin' an' shakin', 

An' the rocks was tumblin' roun'; 
I reckoned that storm was breakin' 

The gates of Eternity down. 

"But Nell broke into the current 
That growled at the thunder's roar ; 



126 



" THE JUDGMENT DA Y IN BOULDER." 




An'wc shot across like an arrow- 
To the trail on the other shore, 

With tlie lightnin's lariat swingin' 
Like death's lasso from his hoss, 

A ropin' the Sangre de Cristo, 
And circling- the Holy Cross. 



"I s'pose a nag as would beat that ride 

Would be toler'ble hard to find; 
For I reckon the day ov judgment 

Ain't more nor a mile behind; 
For I know the ole gang in Boulder 

Ain't foolin' no time awa}'. 
An' the dead'll come out o' thar coffins 

When Cobb begins to pray. 

"An' I know, when Dan and Beebe 

Are singin' ov hymns that way, 
The trail is gettin' alarmin' fresh 

Toward the resurrection day. 
I tell yer the end o' the world 

Will soon be here, I know, 
An' I thought Fd like to be with you all 

When the horn begins to blow. 



TIM O'REILLY' S SOCIETY INSURANCE. 

"So, dad, }cr'd better git ready; 

If ycr' kin, say a kind ov a pray'r 
For me an' mam an' Sally, 

Fer the snmmins'll soon be liyar; 
An', Sally, just take that grog 

An' heave it right outen the gourd, 
Fer, w'en we're standin' aroun' the throne, 

V\'^e sha'n't want any grog on board." 



TIM O'REILLY'S SOCIETY INSURANCE. 

O INIaggie, me darlint, swate Maggie, 

Yez have turned the kay on me love, 
Phin me heart it wus fillin' up, ]\Iaggie, 

Wid songs loike the lone turtle dove. 
Fer Maggie, me heart it wus baitin' — 

Awl fashter an' fashter fer thee, 
From the hour av that sacret matin' 

Phare Oi learned phat lovin' should be. 

O Alaggie, me darlint, belave me, 

Phin Oi till yez me heart it is true; 
Tho' yez turn me away, yit bela\'e me ; 

Oi stay'd away, jNIaggie, fer you, — 
Fer you an' the bairns, dear Alaggie, 

The bairns phat Oi love wid me heart. 
That baits fer thim an' you, Maggie, 

Wid love death niver can part. 

O Maggie, yez know^ not the feelin' 
Phat plays on the strings av me heart, 

Phat set awl me senses a rcelin'. 
An' awl av me pulses did start, 



128 REMORSE. 

Phin the thought, clearest Maggie, possesst me, 
An' the burthen was taken away, 

Phat, JNIaggie dear, long has oppresst me 
Wid worry fur many a day. 

Now, Alaggie, dear ]\Iaggie, thin take it, 

This payper thay gave me fer you, 
Awl wet wid me tears, Maggie, kape it, 

No tellin' — it soon may be due; 
An' you an' the bairns, dearest Maggie, 

It will kape from want an' dispair, 
Phile Oi wait fer yez comin', dear ]\Iaggie, 

Wid little Tim — gone over thayre. 



REMORSE. 

" Shall murder and rapine and woe fill the air? 

Crime! vet the sword in its scabbard doth sleep. 
Crime! yet are barren the scafifold and cell. 
Murder? yea, deeds that shame even hell, 
Make fiends stand aghast, and men, terror bound. 
Are mute in dismay; while space doth resound 
With sighing of woe, for Nature doth weep. 

O Spirit of Justice, hath Wrong o'er thee won 
A victory, and bound thy sword strong with a chain? 
Dotli the blood of the young and the old cry in vain? 
?Iath subtle, dark Evil thy scales of their poise 
Robbed, while the secret foe ruthless destroys, 
And with murder, rapine, and v/oe fills the air. 
While the voices of mourning are hushed in despair 
At the deeds that in darkness by Evil are done? 



J? E MORSE. 129 

Protection, where art thou? Security, where? 

Hast thou taken flight, hke a bird in the air? 

And wilt thou no longer o'ershadow the hearth? 

Oh, hast thou been dragged from thy shrine to the earth, 

And shackled and driven from thy kingdom strong, — 

From thy throne in the home, by the spirit of Wrong? 

Hope not, guiltv heart, in secret to find 

For thy foul spirit rest, or ease for thv mind; 

For the echoes of air will to thee be a rack, — • 

And the stars of the night shall be hounds on thy track; 

The rocks and the trees shall look a reproach, — 

And the shriek of the night-bird a vengeful approach; 

The sighing of winds shall pierce through thine ears 

Like arrows of fire, from thy phantom of fears; 

The water thou'it press to thy lips in hot thirst 

Will reflect but the mark with which thou art curst. 

Thy conscience shall burn till it rob thee of rest, 
And rage shall remorse till it canker thy breast; 
And from thine own voice thou wilt start in affright; 
Thou wilt hide frcim the day, and long for the night, 
That, coming, each hour, and moment, will bring 
A new pang of torment, each l)reath a new sting, 
Till from thine own life in terror thou'dst flee. 
Were it not fearing greater in the unknown Lethe. 
Nay; hope not that justice hath put up her sword; 
For "Vengeance is mine; I will repay," saith the Lord. 



I30 A., F. AND A. RI . (COWBOY BRANCH.) 



A., F. AND A. M. (COWBOY BRANCH. 

Say, pards, come hyar and listen. 
And ril tell you a mysterious tale 

Of some brothers 1 struck in the city, — 
Jist got right on to thar trail. 

There was more'n a hundred of 'em. 

An' I trailed by night an' da\-. 
An' I found thar brands recorded 

Was A., F. and A. M., ter stay. 

An' they herd 'em mostly in l)unches, 
W'har the water an' feed is best, 

In the valleys, an' plains, an' mountains. 
They trail 'em from east to west. 

If they find a steer with the murrain. 
Or bawlin' with wolf in the tail, 

They just cut him out an' leave him, 
To hoof it alone on the trail. 

An', by gosh, if one with the staggers 

Tries to run into thar herd, 
Thar's a fellow way up on the rangin' 

Jist cuts him out with a word. 

An' they don't range around regardless. 
With all sorts o' breeds an' brands; 

An' the rinderpest don't catch 'em, 
Like it does on the sagebrush lands. 



A., F. AND A. M. {COWBOY BRAiVCH.) 

An' they don't have runts an' pilgrims, 

A kickin' and buttin' around; 
Fer nothin' but thoroughbred critters 

Can git a corral on thar ground. 

They've got 'em all down in thar herd book, 
With thar pedigree, number, an' breed; 

An' thar ain't no sort of a racket 
Can ever git up a stampede. 

An', boys, I've jist been thinkin'. 
It would be a good rustle to sling 

Our lassos up on to the bronchos. 
An' ride right into that ring. 

Thar brand is good the hull world round. 
An' thar wrinkle it never will change; 

It's good from hyar to hyarafter 
On this and eternit) 's range. 

An' they told me up thar in thar temple, 
The night I crept into thar ranch, 

They'd start a corral in Slumgullion, 
An' call it the "Cowboy branch." 

The}' show the best count in the i^ound-up. 

On all life's ranges, I know; 
An' we'll all go in on the 'gullion, 

Before the mountains are white with snow. 

And just as the snow on the mountain 

Falls silent and pure and white, 
Thar deeds of kindness thayr doin' 

Are a never-failin' light 



132 " ONL V A WOMA N. " 



"ONLY A WOMAN." 



"She's only a woman!'' Ah, yes! have a care; 
Let it die on thy Hps ere it foul them, beware! 

O'er enough are the quakings 

And the weary heart achings 
She whom thou revilest doth silently bear; 

Yet thou wouldst impatiently 

Add insult complacently 
To wrongs that would harrow thy soul but to share. 

For shame for those words! Ah! thou hast forgot 
Who nourished thy lips ere they uttered the thought 

That would make her weep o'er thee 

Burning tears she e'er bore thee. 
To cause and then scoff at a woman's sad lot. 

Bequeathed by thy lechery. 

Embittered by treachery — 
Whose guilt there's no penance sufficient to blot. 

Yet alone the ccMitumcly and world's bitter scorn 
Follow fast on her sin of love's purity born; 

And thou who sliouldst care for her. 

Like a fiend laid a snare for her; 
Tempting with roses, thou pro vest a thorn 

With a venomous sting to her, 

That ever will cling to her, — 
An avenging Nemesis of all charity shorn. 

No rest for its anguish, no surcease of woe, — 
Her only Siloam where Lethe's waves flow, — 



THE SHAM BATTLE. ^^'S 

The last sole bourne for her, 

Not one to mourn for her. 
Faith and her body and soul all bestow 

To death, all that craves for her; 

E'en earth has no grave for her, 
Pity no tears, and love's embers no glow. 



THE SHAM BATTLE. 

Ho! soldiers from the prairie, come, 
And list the stirring fife and drum. 
And once again "get on your beat," 
And rally round that "standard sheet." 
A "furlough take," "French leave" will do, 
And who objects "just run him through." 

Then "ground" your spade, or hoe or pen, 
And "route step forward" once again; 
"Rio-ht shoulder shift," then "double quick," 
Unless you're on the list called "sick,'' 
And, when a fight was threatened, went 
To get excused at surgeon's tent. 

Your "knapsack" bring and "cofTee can," 
With three days' rations to the man; 
We'll have side meat and old hardtack, — 
And don't forget that other "pack;" 
It kept a "minie ball," you know, 
Out of a Yank on old Shiloh. 

There will be no "beans'' or "rice" in the rations; 
'Twill all be issued in "commutations;" 
So burnish her up all bright and clean. 



134 THE SHAM BA TTLE. 

And never "go back" on the old "canteen." 
This part of "duty" no soldier will shirk 
If he sold his shirt before he'd work. 

They'll all be here, the reds and blues, 
With Bunker Hills and Tippecanoes, 
And cannons' roar and nmskets' rattle; — 
'Twill be the mightiest iMggest battle. 
So bring her along to see the show, — 
The "girl you left behind," you know. 

With bayonets fixed, the mud stockade 

We'll charge to the tune of the White Cockade; 

The "boss marines" and "maiden reserves" 

Will clash together to try their nerves; 

"Unconditional surrender" '11 be here, 

And "Yankee Doodle" will bring up the rear. 

When the "Rogue's March'' is being played 

The whole battalion will "dress parade;" 

"Eyes right," "Eyes left," "Dress up in the rear." 

The Colonel's voice, like a bugle clear. 

Gives the command, wdiile his sword he whirls, 

Now "keep your eyes away from the girls." 

This order, we know, was never obeyed 

By the soldier boy who was never afraid 

Of the flash of a gun, of shot or shell; 

But a flash from her eyes his heart would swell, 

And the Colonel commanding, all undone, 

Shouts in terror to all: "Break ranks; run!" 



THE BRIDE OF THE PLAINS. 



135 





^^il If' '^' i "^^^ ^ dance liyar, stranger? 

^J^lj^ 4 &1 I Mcbbe a show in thar? 

Mighty slnmpery music! Dancin' 

b'ar? 
Wall, then, Mexican monte? No? 
See hyar, 
Stranger, jest gaze down into that 'ar! 
Be lively, pard! What yer got inside? 
Sounds like a herd, out on the divide. 



"Bicycle rink! What's a bicycle rink? 
Got su'thin', I reckon, in thar to drink? 

No? Wall, riddle my skin! No dance, no b'ar, 
No monte, nor show; no drink, nor keerd! 

Any damages, stranger? I'm goin' in thar. 
That's the roarin'ist racket I ever heard. 



136 THE BRIDE OF THE PLAINS. 

"By gosh! I believe things are awfully changin'. 
Never heerd of a rink in all o' my rangin'; 
An', if thar ain't monte or faro or drinkin', 
Or any fandango, — why, Mister, I'm thinkin'. 
If yer jest would cut out backbitin' an' cheatin', 
If thar is any sech in yer bicycle meetin'. 

"No, stranger, they're yourn; on the Rio Grande range 
We never take nickels, only quarters for change. 
Jest hand us a light to start my cigar. 
The dickens you say! No smokin' in thar? 
Wall, Mister, the fun must be winterin' thin 
If yer don't give nothin' but racket fer tin. 

"Never heerd o' them things, — them bicycle mates; 
Fer, Mister, yer see, sence I bin in the States 
It's about seven }ear, an' that was Missoury, 
An' camp meetin's then was ragin' like fury. 
'Twas jest the same racket, an' hollerin' an' shakin'. 
An' a jug in the wagon, if I ain't mistakin. 

"An', stranger, I say, if thar's any deceivin' 
In what yer been tellin' and I'm a believin' 
About this bicycle yer say is fun splittin'. 
An' I find it ain't, yer better be gittin'. 
So, pard, if it's squar', jest pull the door-pin, 
An' into yer racket I guess I'll roll in. 

"Wall, now. by gosh! Say, Mister, be you 
The boss o' this herd? It's a daisy corral! 
Gosh! see that heifer, — that short-horn gal 

With buffalo curls and a Chinezer kew; 
She's a regular coyote, an' goin' like thunder. 
She's gittin' stampeded; thar, she's gone under! 



THE BRIDE OF THE PLAINS. I37 

"Fell flattern a steer! Yes, pepper thar skins, 

Jest as I thought, got roped on the shins 

Of little Tom-tit, that dude over thar 

With lariat legs an" head like a gar. 

Say, blister, Til drown it in clover leaf juice; 

Don't pay to waste powder on things o' no use. 

"l!ut terbacker is wuth more after it's chewed 
Than a poor litde runt of a pilgrim or dude; 
They ain't worth the half o' the grass or the grub 
They eat any day; they're a nat'ral scrub, 
An' both o' 'em fillin' the same sort o' place, 
To all thar relations a bringin' disgrace. 

"An' the poor little whelps most always, yer see, 
Mix in v/ith the Durhams an' Herefords as free 
As though they was wo'th four dollars a pound. 
When thar carcass an' hide wouldn't ration a hound, 
An' a buzzard would laugh in scorn at the joke he 
Had left on their bones for a hungry coyote. 

"Wall, the little gal's up like a deer on the trail. 

She's leadin' the herd like a comet its tail; 

Thar's jinuine thoroughbred blood in her veins, 

An' a gait that would make her the boss o' the plains. 

Her eyes, like a mirage, kind o' far-away deep. 

An' her hair dancin' down like the wild Unaweep. 

"She's a wanderin' stray from Los Angeles band. 

Her lips have got on 'em the paradise brand. 

Say, Mister, I'll try how that machine feels. 

An' I'll prance it around to that gal on the wheels. 

Thar, steady; that's a (|ueer kind o' broncho to ride, 

But I'll try it a turn to that little gal's side." 



I3S THE BRIDE OF THE PLAINS. 

Then I lit out across the corral on a jump, 
To head off the gal that was leadin' the lump, 
An' my reg'lar gait had just al)out struck, 
When the cussid machine gave a Mexican buck; 
The right foreleg sort o' stiffened out straight, 
An' the left one broke out on a forty-mile gait. 

An' I jerked the lasso to pull the left in; 

When 1 walked up the rope, it had caught on my chin; 

But I started ag'in to canter 'em slow. 

And I met the ridge-pole comin' up from below. 

Then I struck the stockade with a Texican bump. 

An' she looked a mile high; that gal wasn't plump. 

Then I tried 'em a trot at a buffalo pace, 

But they got me corralled on a right about face; 

That buckin' machine then gathered all four, 

An' I shot in the air an' bombarded the floor, 

Tlien I started ag'in to git on the lead, 

When the whole of the herd got on a stampede, 

An' across the corral I slid out like a snake, 

Till I struck an' wound up like a rope on a stake; 

An' I thought every muscle an' bone an' sinew 

Was gittin' hacked up by a bloody red Sioux, 

An' over the trail on my back I was slewed, 

Till I thought I was close on the trail of the dude. 

But I righted 'em up and sat down by the boss, 

Fer to give 'em a blow an' count up the loss; 

But he said every horn of the herd was all right. 

Wasn't any stampede, hadn't been any fight. 

By gosh! I'd a thought I'd been dragged by the roots 

Of my hair forty mile by a band of Piutes. 



THE BRIDE OF THE PLAINS. 



139 



Then he gave me a point on the cycle concern, 

An' said to stop short, jest g^ive a short turn; 

But jest when I did I suddenly learned 

I was gittin' myself most mightily churned. 

He braced me up easy, and said — but he lied — 

They learned 'em that way. I think most on 'em died. 

Then I crept slow along close by the stockade. 
An' all of 'em thought I was out on parade; 
Fer every last eye, like crows in a tree. 




But that little gal's, was starin' at me. 

Then I jest give a whoop that split up the air, 

An' started across the corral on a tear. 

But, Mister, a start and a go with a whoop 
Don't always connect like a cinch in a loop. 
On that cycle machine the start was "O. K. ;" 
But the go, it was — oh! whar folks never pray. 
1 kept on the wheel for a rod and a half 
Then, like a poor, mis'able pilgrim calf — 



MO THE BRIDE OF THE PLAINS. 

A havin' the staggers an' buttin' around, 

An' buckin' an' backin' all over the ground, 

I went stiff-legged with my back in a kink. 

An' I thought I had got 'em right thar in the rink. 

Except for the buzzin' I'd 'a knowed I was dead. 

But thar I went spinnin' around on my head. 

An' I saw rollin' round right under the roof, 
Like a million o' flies, nearly every dern hoof 
O' the herd; an' that gal didn't look a foot high. 
An' the floor was a mirage wa}' ofif in the sky. 
My heels went a pawin' around in the air, 
An' the stars playin' tag all about in my hair. 

Then the lasso got mixed in a lot o' machines, 
An' the herd scattered sideways off in the ravines, 
An' it felt like the teeth of a five hundred pack 
O' wolves was a gnawin' the spine o' my back ; 
Then a far-away sort o' a rumblin' I heard, 
Like ten thousand buff'lo stampedin' a herd, 

Or a seven-foot horn of a Panhandle steer. 

Or a Wyoming blizzard had run in my ear, 

An' was borin' around for the back of my neck. 

Or huntin' a trail to the hurricane deck 

O' my scalp, when all ov a sudden I felt the earth quake, 

An' I thought all creation was havin' a shake. 

Then it felt awful (|ueer while the earth settled down, 
Like a mountain'd been born. I gazed all around. 
But the round-up was busted; I wished I could die, 
For, standin' right by me, with a laugh in her eye. 
Was that muley-haired gal, an" she said, kind o' strange 
"Do you always sot down that way on the range?'' 



THE BRIDE OF THE PLAINS. 141 

Now, Mister, I've been for the Greasers an' Utcs 
A target, and fought whar folks die in their boots; 
But to her I surrendered, — I'm wearin' her brands, — 
And I throwed up my heels as well as my hands; 
And my heart went stampedin' like a scared bobolink. 
From that litde gal's eyes in the bicycle rink. 

An' all o' them brands are on thar for keeps: 

That little gaPs eyes never slumbers nor sleeps. 

I see 'em by night, an' I see 'em by day. 

An' they seem sort o' near, an' then far away ; 

Sut she said the next time a new crescent would blink, 

We'd go down to the ranch through the minister's rink. 

Go back on that gal? Wall, blister, I guess 

Your health'll be better if thar you don't press. 

The laws on the range ain't down in the dregs 

Whar they grind out divorces like hatching of eggs, 

An' a man who abuses a woman out thar 

Can choose 'twixt dying or treating her sc^uar'. 

No, Mister our l^rands and word never change; 

We deal on the sc[uar' on the Rio Grande range; 

An' when it is spoke fer a day or fer years, 

It is good for a calf, or a million of steers; 

An' who doubts it, or speaks against little brown eyes. 

Will ride on his wheel whar the snow never flies. 

She's squar' to the line, an' I give her my word. 

An' the bunch on the Pifion, the three thousand herd, 

The pony, the dogs, the boat, and the paddle, 

A whieel like a feather, a gold-mounted saddle, 

Snow white like her pony; and, where hearts never change, 

She will ride the boss bride of the Rio Grande range. 



142 DINNIS ' TOOLE ' S DA YR V. 



DINNIS O'TOOLE'S DAYRY. 

Yez may prate av the joys av yez svvate cottage home, 

Wid yez garden pertaties and banes; 
A swate Httle wife, — and a cradle, bcgob, — 

An' windys — wid glass in the panes. 
An' a barry an' hoe, — wid a pig in the yard; 

But, begorry, I don't think it pays. 
Tin hours av hard w'ork in the day-toime, begob, 

An' the nights full av colic— an' tays! 

Not to mention the thrials an' throubles phat come 

On a furnishin' clothin' an' mate 
Phin yez credit has gone clane up in the spout. 

An' yez nabers say yez a dead bate; 
An' the tongue av yez wife, like a clapper, bedad. 

Thin robs yez av all av yez aize, 
An' calls yez a lazy, red-headed spalpeen, — 

Bedad, I don't think it pays. 

Jist give me the loife av a travelin' man, 

So aizy an' free in its playsure; 
Wid me dog Ballywag I'm a king av the rail, 

Widout one cint's worth av traysure. 
But, arrah, bedad, good lauk to the day 

Phin I sthopped at a mansion to tax 'em 
A mail for mesilf an' a bit fur me dog; 

An', begob, I had only jisht axt 'em. 

Phin I got a shurprize phat will lasht till I die — 
If it don't cause me death enny sooner: — 

There was Dinnis O'Toolc, as big as a lord, 
A drinkin' swate crame from a schooner! 



DINNIS ' TOOLE'S DA YR V. 

An' there was his sister, swate Maggie O'Toole;— 

I knowed 'em in a\\ld Tipperary, 
Phin Dinnis was poor as mc dog Ballywag; — 

But he's rich now, — a runnin' a dayry, 

Wid four muley cows, — an' a shtumptail, bedad. 

But, arrah, the shpring wather flowin' — 
Helps Dinnis to hve so dacint, indade, 

That himself I was niver a knowin'. 
Said Diiniis. "Get out, ye baste wid the dog;" 

But Maggie, so foinc as a fa}ry, 
Jisht screamed: "Be me sowl, it's him, Dinnie! 

That's Mike from awld Tipperary." 

Thin Dimiis an' me, wid his wagin an' horse, 

Round the counthry wint ridin' so aisy. 
The min all addreshed him as ^listher O'Toole, 

An' the winnnin all said, "Pie's a daysy." 
His clothes they are nate, he smokes foine cigars. 

His wishes no one will contrayry, 
An' he says it's because he wathers his stock 

So nate an' complate in his dayry. 

I've traveled the wurld fur many a day 

In search av a foine spiculation. 
At noon an' at night, in the hayte an' the cowld; 

But niver since the day av creation 
Has a "hand-out'' so full bin thresht in me face 

As by Alaggie O'Toole, the swate fayry: 
An' Dinnis consints — to loan us the spring; 

So we'll marry, — an' start up a dayry. 



143 



144 JANE AND JEREMIAH 



JANE AND JEREMIAH AT THE COTTONWOOD 
MASQUERADE. 

Wall, of all the (loin's that I ever seed, 
These Cottonwood fellers are takin' the lead. 
They asked me an' Jane to come to thar ball, 
When they hed a kind of a frolic for all; 
And it just beat shucks how they capered around, 
An' sich doin's afore I never hed found. 
And Jane — wall, Jane she jist declared 
Thct never before hed she been so scared. 

They hed a lay-out of puddin' an' jams. 
An' crullers, an' milk, an' sassage an' hams. 
An' cheese, an' coffee, an' pumpkin pie; 
An' then, b'gosh, I thought I'd die 
To see Jane closin' down onto a cake 
Thet she said had got too much ov a bake. 
'Twas sugared all over, an' looked so good; 
But holler buUrushes! 'twas nothin' but wood! 

There was gals dressed out like ninety year old, 
With specs an' caps, tell you couldn't of told 
Them gals from grannies, an' pigs an' shoats, 
An' funny old fellers in petticoats. 
Then Jane sidled up and whispered to me; 
She says, "Jeremiah! Jeremiah!" says she, 
'Tf thar ain't ole Nick, with horns an' a tail, 
A follerin' that gal with the milkin' pail." 

And then, purty soon, like a pack ov hounds. 
Come a mess of fellers dressed up like clowns; 



AT THE COTTONWOOD MASQUERADE. 145 

An' they drag-gcd a stump rig-ht on to the floor 
With a great big maul. And then some more, 
Of a different sort, with a kittle and sticks 
And axes, come in a singin' big licks: 
"There's blood to boil, and bones to break; 
And who shows fear will feed the snake." 

Then Jane begun to pull at her frills; 

Her eyes they sot;- she got white in the gills; 

She kinder turned, and gaspin', she said, 

Says she: "Jeremiah, Jeremiah, I'm dead. 

An' gone to where the mothers-in-law 

All go who practice too much with jaw." 

An' I whispered, "Yes; that's where they parade. 

But, Jane, this hyar's jist a masquerade." 

Then she kind of revived, an' she says to me, 
Says she: "Jeremiah, Jeremiah," says she, 
"I've hearn 'em tell of spirits an' ghosts, 
An' feasts where witches live toads would roast; 
But the Cottonwood fellers, — Jeremiah, they beat 
The boots plum off o' them witches' feet. 
An' I say, let's go! for, Jeremiah, I know 
They're not done yit! an' their cake aiiit dough. " 



10 



146 THE TRAMP MILLER. 



THE TRAMP MILLER. 

You ask who I be? Wall, that's nat'ral, I s'pose; 

For, yon see, I be'ii trav'lin' nigh on to ten year. 
But folks wliar I be'n most all on 'em knows 

I'm the boss on the mill business; that's mighty clear. 
You see, I sot out on the old Brandywine, 

Whar I run twenty burr till I closed the mills down 
In the hull country round. Made the "Ninety an' Nine" — 

Fust-class. An' the middlin's? — well, thar wa'n't any 
ground. 

That brand? Wall, Mister, thar was just only one 

O' all o' them mills thet continered to grind, 
Out'n even one hundred, — they jus' couldn't run, 

An' the way our mill done it they never could find. 
So, Alister, you see that's how the brand come; 

A kind o' a epitaf brand, — mighty fine; 
They had to shet down, an' let 'em go dumb, 

l-'or the folks would buy nothin' but "Ninety an' Nine.'* 

An' I just grind the grist right up, cheat an' all. 

Got a new kind o' process; don't make any bran, 
Or middlin's, or stuff, — grind 'em down mighty small 

With some chemickler salts, — a new kind o' plan, — 
Just beats all o' them big millin' houses to smash; 

A thing o' my own, — by gosh! beats the Jews! 
An' thar ain't nuthin' like it for winnerin' cash, 

F'or the hull runs to flour, an' there ain't no refuse. 

As I said, I be'n trav'lin', ten year it may be. 
Up an' down an' aroun', interducin' my plan: 



IS MARRIAGE A FAIIURE? 147 

A kind a' expert on the mill, don't yer see? 

A boss on the process 'ithont any bran. 
An' it works on to rolls, on to burrs or a reel. 

On to steam mills, or water, or wind, or a boss; 
An' I calkilate, Mister, it's a mighty big deal 

To get yer ol' mill fixed up by a boss. 

Do 'er up by the job, by the day or the year; 

Run her squar' on my chemickler plan to a dot. 
A¥hen I git 'er fixed up, thar's nuthin' to fear, 

An' you can skip on a tower, when the weather is hot. 
To the mountings and lakes; — thar's nuthin' like rest 

When you know the ol' mill is run 'ithout loss, 
An* the profits rolls in; — for I'll run 'cr my best 

On the chemickler plan; — I'm the "Ninety-Nine" boss. 



IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE ? 

I stood on a summit towering high 
Above the earth, — I touched the sky, — 
^\\ mounting soul I thought would fly. 
Then of the sj^heres I this did ask: 
"Tell me where joys eternal bask, 
And time is one sweet paradise;" 
And Echo answered, 

"Pair-of-eyes." 

I sat at eve v.-here waters fell, 
Where bloomed the wild rose and the bluebell, 
And wooing birds sang in the dell. 
Then of the waters, birds, and flowers, 



148 IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE? 

I asked, "Oh, where are happy hours, 
And all of life is lovely made?" 
And Echo murmured, 

"Lovely maid." 

I wandered forth at midnight hour, 

I heard the bells in neighboring tower, 

I sought repose in leafy bower, 

And asked the queen of night to tell 
Where happiness may ever dwell. 

My reverie broke with spreading knell 
As Echo whispered, 

"Wedding-bell." 

Some years thereafter I was dazed 
While in that "pair of eyes" I gazed. 
And by that "maid" I stood amazed; 
At what she said I slightly paled. 
Ask, Echo, now, "Has marriage failed?" 
Just then my boys and girls from school 
Caught Echo's thundering 

"No, you fool." 



FIDELITY. 



149 



FIDELITY. 

May it be so! 

And well, 
In this deep woe 

To dwell. 

Aly heart be wrung, 

And break 
Of love that sprung 

To wake — 

Upon the morn 

Of hate,— 
The wild, love-born, 

Fierce hate. 

I can but pray 

'"Tis well;" 
I ne'er can say 

"Farewell:" 

My heart will cling 

To thee; 
i\Iy love will spring 

To be — 

Thine own e'ermore, 

Then erst, 
Thy passion o'er. 

To burst, — 



I50 BIGOTS. 

As doth the rose, 
When prest, 

Its sweets disclose; 
Then blest — 

I'll deem my fate 
To live, 

Love for thy hate 
To sfive. 



BIGOTS. 

Well may we mourn, — not for them dead, 
But rather that they live instead. 
Endowed with brains like niillet seed. 
For on small things their minds must feed. 
Woe at their feet they never see: 
From woe to come they warn to flee, 
And beg and pra\' for Hottentot, 
And invoke brimstone sizzling hot 
On next-door neighbor, "lost in sin," 
Because their fold he is not in. 
Good Lord have mercv on our race 
When such as they purvey His grace. 
The path they tread with roomy breadth 
Would squeeze a hope to instant death: 
The pit they love if they should lose, 
They'd wrangle for the devil's shoes. 
Enigma here on wonder piles. 
And mystery on mystery files: 
We love and hope as reason grows; — 
Why bigots live, God only knows. 



LOVE'S FETTERS. 151 



LOVE'S FETTERS. 

TO A FRIEND. 



There may be others wish thee well, 

Or those who love thee fonder, 
111 summer fair, or wintry days; 

lUit none wdio stay or wander 
Give trilnite truer than worthy praise. 

Rejoice I in }our pleasiu'e, 
Your happiness my prayer always, 

From measure unto measure. 
Your wish the shrine of loving hearts 

Filled with thy smile, — a blessing 
Replete, and full in every part. 

Its silence but confessing 
E'en all that love can give or take. 

Seek not a pledge or hostage; 
Dissolve all bond or truce, and make 

Life one harmonious, rhythmic lay, 
Embowered in sweetest roses 

Of true affection's lasting day; 
Nor end when life's dream closes. 




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